


Working Together

by BuckinghamAlice, lightsparkwatchboom



Series: The Dark'n'Bossy/BigBlueSky Role-Play Archive [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Comics, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, RP Blog Archive, They Finally Get Their Heads Out of Their Asses Long Enough to Shove Them Back Up Again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckinghamAlice/pseuds/BuckinghamAlice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsparkwatchboom/pseuds/lightsparkwatchboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent must work together to thwart the assassin still out in Metropolis. It more or less goes according to plan, if you count double hospitalization a success.</p><p>Afterward, Bruce struggles with the concept of a relationship and Barbara gets her first official Batgirl case.</p><p>Note that though this is rated Mature, it is not actually graphic in nature. But don't worry, we're getting there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 4 of the Dark'n'Bossy/BigBlueSky role-play you can find under the 'dab bbs rp' tag on tumblr. Can you find the filler episodes?

Clark didn’t  _actually_  have to sleep, not very much, at any rate.  The sun would recharge him plenty.  But he didn’t really realize how much he was used to sleeping until he stopped getting enough of it.  He woke up ahead of his alarm clock again, and buried his face in the pillow.  But there was work to be done… but work didn’t mean he couldn’t sleep for another hour or so.

When he woke up again, he had to speed through a shower and use his heat vision to brew his coffee.  He breezed out of the apartment and hurried off to the office, keeping on his guard and luckily not facing any emergencies along the way.

&&&

"I cannot believe this," Lois said, stomping down the street.  "I really can’t."  They had shown up to the deputy mayor’s office early, prepared for their interview, and ended up waiting for over an hour, only to be turned away.

Clark shook his head.  ”I can.  That’s how it works here in the city.  These government officials always make promises they have no intention of keeping just to get rid of little guys like us.  That deputy mayor was never going to see us.  They don’t care that they wasted our time because we don’t matter to them.  We’re not important to them.”

Lois eyed him.  ”You haven’t done a ‘here in the city’ rant in ages.  What’s up?”

"Nothing," Clark replied.  "I just… I’m annoyed."

"No,  _I’m_  annoyed,” Lois said.  ”You’ve been mopey and sulky and unpleasant all morning.  I ask again: what’s up with you?”

And she was right, and he knew it.  He had been in a mood, and he wasn’t sure why.  Well, that wasn’t entirely true.  He had a pretty good idea why, but there was nothing he could do about it.  It was a perfectly lovely day and despite the annoyance of not getting the interview they had expected, work was fine.  But he couldn’t appreciate any of that because if he had his druthers he’d be hanging out with Bruce.  He had been trying so hard not to like him like that, and now here he was missing him.  It had only been a few hours and…

"I’m fine, really," he lied.  "I guess I’m just out of sorts because I overslept this morning."

Lois smiled.  ”You know what we’re going to do?  We’re going to go to that cafe on Dorsett Avenue… the little one we went to that day when the fog was so thick that you could hardly see the sidewalk below you.  And we’re going to have pasta for lunch and hot chocolate with shots of Bailey’s and those big chocolate chip cookies for dessert.”  She looped her arm through Clark’s.  ”Because I don’t like seeing you unhappy… unless it’s because you’re crying about me acing you out of a story.”

And they did that, and Clark felt marginally better.  But he still kind of missed Bruce, even though he knew it was silly.  Bruce had been able to get passed not liking him, or so it seemed.  But that didn’t mean that anything would actually happen between them… there was no way it would happen.  So he knew it was pointless to pine like some school boy, and it was pretty ridiculous at that.  But realizing that didn’t change how he felt.

&&&

That evening, he waited for Batman to give him the call.  To keep himself from being impatient, he pulled out his copy of  _The Hound of the Baskervilles_  and tried to occupy his mind.  And it almost worked.

===

Bruce woke up with part of the keyboard indented in his face.

"I should like to think you received a full night’s rest and are well-prepared for your morning activities, but all indications say otherwise, Master Bruce." Alfred set the coffee down beside him.

Bruce groaned his response and huddled around the cup. Its scent alone was a sweet, sweet nectar. “What am I doing today?”

"Let’s see," Alfred began, instinctively tidying up the papers, "brunch with your accountant, golf at noon, you need to put an appearance in at the office at some point, and Lucius said he’d be ready to talk to you about that proposal this weekend. Other than that, you are relatively free."

“Cancel everything. I spent the night raving and haven’t stopped puking since.” Bruce stood, keeping the coffee close to his face. Everything, absolutely  _everything_ , ached. Kevlar was quite possibly the worst material to sleep in.

&&&

He woke up at 5:43 pm. He honestly could have slept another six or seven hours and probably would still feel just as exhausted as he did then.

Bruce rolled off his stomach and pushed his way out of bed. He didn’t even bother with clothes, he just grabbed his robe and went straight for the kitchen. Alfred was in the middle of his evening nap. That was fine, Bruce didn’t really care about well-prepared food at the moment. He was hungry enough to eat a small village.

Sitting down with a can of beans, Bruce busied himself by reading the Gotham Gazette. Then it was the Daily Planet — all three editions for the day — and afterwards he went to his gym and read the headlines scrolling across CNN’s website. He still had another mile and a half left on the treadmill, so he tapped his fingers on the tablet in front of him and picked up right where he left off in LexCorp’s databases. 

Sunset wasn’t until 7:30. It was barely 6:45.

Alfred found him in the ‘Cave, carrying an actual meal on a platter.

"I already ate," Bruce said.

"Yes, I saw the half-empty can. I’m going to stop buying those from now on." Alfred set the tray down and Bruce, feeling guilty, moved the food in front of him. That put a small smile on Alfred’s face. "Are you going back to Metropolis tonight?"

"Have to. The assassin’s still out there. If he goes for Superman again, I’ll be ready for him." Bruce brought a spoonful of the soup to his lips. Gnocchi, he realized. It was actually gnocchi.

"Any luck on finding him?"

Bruce snorted. “It’s not like I can just Google their whereabouts. They don’t keep facebook pages and ‘check in’ at locations.”

"Of course, sir," Alfred said, frowning in apology. "I was merely making conversation."

Bruce let out a small breath. “It’s fine. Sorry, I’m just tired. Getting no where with this—” A beep went off on the lower-left monitor, cutting Bruce right out of his thoughts. He disabled the alert and pulled the cowl over his head. “It’s Jim,” he said. “Better go see what he wants.”

&&&

Batman slid one boot across the ground, announcing his presence. Jim didn’t even look up from lighting his pipe. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know it’ll kill me," the man said. He turned around and held out a file. "Got a cold case croppin’ back up. The cop who worked it originally is tryin’ to get himself back on it, but I’m pretty sure he’s the reason that it went cold."

Batman took the file in his hands. He flipped it open and thumbed through the papers, then returned it to Jim. “I’ll see what I can find.”

"Yer not gonna keep this?" Jim waved the file a bit.

"I already know the case." Batman shot his grappling gun and flew out of sight. "Fifth and Hale," he said into the communicator. It was a meeting point farther away that necessary, but he could stop at the cop’s house on the way.

===

Clark snapped to attention and got himself in gear.  He changed into his uniform without abusing his super speed and even paced around his apartment once or twice.  It was important that he made sure he was properly collected and didn’t look like he had been looking forward to this all day.  

He took off and flew to where Batman had said to meet him.  Landing lightly, he simply said, “Hi.”

===

His cheerfulness was irritating.

"Drop me off at your apartment. I need to use your computer," Bruce said.

===

Clark had to hide his smile.  He wanted to tell Batman that he was too young to be such a grumpy old man, but he probably already knew that.

"Yes, sir," he said instead.  

He scooped Batman up and they took off.  He landed on the balcony and let go of his passenger.

===

Bruce had to keep his eyes closed the whole way. Not that he was tired, he just needed to focus on recalling what he had read earlier. Serial theft seems to have picked up where it left off a few years ago, with no traces at the scene, not even a curtain out of place except for the stolen items. And the suspected cop had just about as much to do with it as a cat might.

"We need a better plan than you just flying around the city at night," Batman said. He went straight for the computer and flipped it open, typing in Clark’s password without missing a beat. "If I’m in the Slums and you’re in Uptown when he strikes, we’ve got a problem."

===

Clark furrowed his brows.  ”Then what are we meant to do?  We’re not covering much territory if we stick together.”

===

Batman scowled. “We’re not covering much of anything as it is. We need to figure out who was hired and get to him before he strikes. If we keep waiting like this it’ll—” He heard tires screeching down on the street. With a sigh, he waved a hand. “Go.  _I’ll_  figure it out.” Bruce sat down and went to work.

===

"Whatever," Clark replied.  "That was the plan anyways."  He didn’t have time to concern himself with Bruce’s mood swings.

He flew off the balcony and over a block and a half, where he found that a taxi and a Honda Civic had collided head on.  The Civic had a small fire going.

"Car crash.  Driver and one passenger in one, driver and two passengers in the other," he said into his communicator as he swooped down.  The driver of the Civic, a man in his thirties, was drunk.  Reeking of alcohol.  He had no injuries.  The passenger was a girl of about eleven who had suffered burns to one side of her face and a broken wrist.  Her face would be permanently scarred, but she would live.  Superman pulled them both to safety and checked that they were out of immediate danger.  He blew out the fire so it wouldn’t spread, and moved on to the other car quickly.

In the back of the taxi were a young couple, a young man and woman who were maybe nineteen or twenty years old, both terrified but uninjured.  But the taxi driver had hit his head rather hard and was now bleeding and likely concussed.

He glanced up from the taxi driver once he had him free from the car and listened around him.  He didn’t know if anyone had called the paramedics… he didn’t hear any ambulance sirens in the distance.

"B, I need an ambulance to the corner or Olivier and Wesley," he ordered.  He wouldn’t have been at all surprised if Batman had called them already, but he couldn’t take any chances.

===

"Done." He had, in fact, called the moment he heard "car crash." And Bruce couldn’t help it, he needed to see the scene for himself. It wasn’t that far away, and he didn’t even need to grappled to get to a post up above it all. "Is everyone…?"

===

"No fatalities," he responded quickly.  "A possible concussion and a little girl with airbag burns on her face."

===

"Cold air on the kid, stop the burning," Bruce said. He grabbed his grappling hook and stopped himself. Dammit, Batman was supposed to be in Gotham. The one thing he might actually be of any use with and he was stuck up on a rooftop. "Watch out for the concussion, try to keep that one awake at least until the paramedics arrive." He could already hear the sirens.

===

"Right," he said.  He had already been standing next to the man with the concussion and trying to watch that he didn’t fall asleep.  He looked at him and asked, "Sir?  Hi.  Can you tell me your name?"  He blew cool air from a distance onto the little girl, taking care not to get it too cold.  He didn’t get as much practice with that as he’d have liked, so he had to mind that he didn’t freeze the girl.

The sirens were getting close now.

"Amir," the taxi driver answered weakly.  "Amir Venkatesh."

Clark smiled.  ”Hi, Amir.  I’m Superman.”

Amir smiled now.  ”I know who you are!  Everyone knows you.”

"You smiled when you said that so I’ll take it as a compliment," Clark replied.

"It is," Amir replied.  "My whole family loves you.  We love to see you on the news… and my son has a scrapbook of clippings since you first came to Metropolis."  He smiled again.  "He’s going to be so jealous I met you."

Clark smiled softly.  ”Tell you what, if you give me your address, I’ll come by and meet your son.  The whole family.”

"Really?" Amir asked.  "That would mean the world to us."

Before Clark could respond, the paramedics arrived, followed shortly thereafter by the police.  Amir and the little girl were loaded onto the ambulance, and the other driver, the little girls’ father, was arrested for drunk driving.  Clark overheard one of the policeman say something about making sure a social worker at the hospital called child protective services about the little girl.  

Before the ambulance pulled away, one of the EMTs handed Clark a slip of paper with an address written on it.  ”Mr. Venkatesh insisted I give you this,” she said.  Then, with a smile, she said, “You’re taller in person than you look on TV.”

Clark laughed.  ”Thanks, I think.  And thank you all for your quick work.” 

He took off.

===

He needed to punch something. Because that — that was damn-near  _perfect_. Superman was loved and adored and invited over for dinner and Batman…Batman couldn’t even do the one thing he was known for. 

With a small sigh, he returned to the apartment. Clark’s computer had finished establishing its secure connection to the Bat terminal, and he could dig into his work properly. 

Maybe he just needed a break, he thought. He pulled up the notes on Gordon’s cold case. He could figure something out, send some investigation suggestions at the very least. Just  _something_ needed to be done.

===

There was too much silence on the other end of the communicator.  He didn’t like it.  

 _How could I have pissed him off_ again _at that far of a distance?_

His first instinct was to go the apartment to see for himself what the matter was.  But that would have backfired, probably.  Even if there was a problem that Bruce would be willing to share with him, he wouldn’t say anything if he could see Clark’s face and his reactions.  He hadn’t known him long, but he knew him well enough to be pretty sure about that.

So instead, he tried to keep his voice casual when he asked, “Hey, are you… is everything okay?”

===

Bruce made a rumble from the pits of his chest. “There is an assassin in Metropolis. Luthor hired him. I cannot tie Luthor to it without exposing the book. If I expose the book, not only is it too easy for Luthor to deny it, but he can distance himself from  _everything_  inside it. He has an entire  _corporation_  to hide behind. And to top it all off, I now have a cold case warming itself up in Gotham that I have to investigate from here.” He felt an immediate wave of regret at that last line. It wasn’t that he didn’t like— well no, he  _didn’t_  like Metropolis, but Clark wasn’t so— he meant, if he was given the choice between the two—

Bruce ran a gloved hand over his face, sliding it under the cowl to wipe over his eyes, then tugging it back down firmly. He didn’t even know anymore. He was tired —  _still_  tired — and the stress was going right to his side. And he had said  _way_  too much.

"Look, unless you have a cup of coffee folded up with your civvies, I don’t want to hear it," he finished. "I’m working."

===

Clark sighed.  He had been worried that he’d managed to upset Bruce, but… no.  Bruce was just tired and frustrated and he had work to do… and all of this was keeping him from it.

Well… Clark couldn’t make this investigation go any faster (if he could, he would have a long time ago), but he could at least do… something.

Several minutes later, he landed on the balcony of his apartment.  He came inside and offered Bruce a grande hot Americano from the Starbucks on the corner.  ”Here.  It wasn’t in my civvies, but I figured it’d taste better this way.  I seemed to remember you took it black, but there’s milk and sugar in the kitchen if you like.”  Then, with a little smile, he added, “And for future reference, if you’re in my apartment, you’ve  _always_  got access to coffee.  The coffee maker is on the counter and I keep the grounds in the fridge.”

===

Bruce stared at the coffee as if it might explode, be poisoned, or perhaps instead that it was the greatest treasure in the whole world.

He was not expecting that.

He had expected Clark to ignore him. He had expected Clark to get irritated with him and to be honest, he almost wanted something to yell at. But as he took a careful sip and let the scalding hot bitterness blot out the rest of the world, he decided he could let Clark get off, just this once.

"Thanks," he said, setting the cup aside to cool off some more. He then had an image of Superman standing in line, waiting for a barista to hand him his coffee. He thought about what Gotham would do if Batman tried that stunt. The reaction would be…different.

Bruce frowned as he rubbed his thumb against the side of the cup. There were differences between them. Glaringly obvious differences. He couldn’t let a cup of coffee let him think otherwise.

"Clark, listen," he began, fighting the urge to pull down his cowl, "tomorrow night, I need to stay in Gotham. There’s some things I need to do. And if you don’t make a daytime appearance even once, the assassin might get suspicious." He watched for Clark’s reaction, never quite meeting his eye.

===

He shrugged.  Well, that was a little disappointing, but entirely understandable.  Of course Batman wouldn’t be able to stay and babysit him forever… wouldn’t want to even if he could.

"That’s fine," Clark said.  "And as a matter of fact, I’m surprised there hasn’t already been a big to-do about me not being seen much lately.  Luthor would love to taken an opportunity like this to get the whole town thinking I’ve abandoned them."

===

Bruce blinked and pursed his lips. “It’s been two days. You don’t…” He looked at Clark expectantly. Did he really spend that much time helping people that  _two days_  of inactivity would be noticed? Gotham could go a month without Batman, and the only person who might notice would be Gordon. Alfred too, of course, but that was Alfred.

Shaking his head, Bruce looked back at the computer. “Boy Scout,” he muttered. He might have smiled, though, too.

===

"Is the guy who sleeps in five minute increments really shaking his head at  _my_  work load?” Clark asked with a smile.

===

That time, Bruce actually did smile. It was a small thing, just at the very corners of his lips, but it still made it up to his eyes nonetheless. Because yeah, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Clark had a point.

"Get back out to your city, Superman. I’ll be fine in here.

===

He gave a two-finger Boy Scout style salute and took off again.

&&&

Several hours, a thwarted liquor store robbery, and a rescued-a-puppy-from-behind-a-sewer-grate later, Clark yawned.  ”Just a heads up, but I’m coming in for the evening,” he said over the comm.  ”I’m actually kind of beat.”

===

Bruce had already disconnected and shut down Clark’s computer. He frowned when he said, “You get tired.” The question was left hanging in the air.

===

"Well, sure," he said over the comm.  Then, landing on the balcony, he said, "I sleep like anybody else… and I guess my body’s sort of gotten used to it."

===

"Hm." That was…interesting to know. He needed to remember that. It might be good to know for whatever reason.

Though while Clark may be tired, Bruce was far from it. He actually felt more awake now than he did when he woke up. “Think you can survive the trip to Gotham?” he asked, stepping out to meet him.

===

Clark smiled.  ”Well, what’s the worst that could happen?  You’ve got your grappling hook in case of emergencies.”  He grabbed Bruce and they took off.

===

Bruce had a less-than-appreciative word or two about  _that_  line, especially since Clark knew he hated flying. But they were all lost the moment the pair took off, and really, in-flight conversation wasn’t something Bruce wanted to start. He liked the quiet, and before it even registered what he was doing, he had hooked his ear in place and was resting his head, eyes shut. He still wasn’t tired, but for five minutes, he would pretend.

===

Clark smiled to himself at the fact that Bruce was leaning against him again.  It was kind of nice, these quiet moments.  Of course Clark was looking forward to when this was all over with, and the assassin had been caught, so he wouldn’t miss the circumstances that had made all this necessary.  But  _this_?  This time with Bruce…

Well, best not to give in to those thoughts any more than he already had.

They touched down softly and Clark let go of Bruce.  ”Well, here we are.”

===

"Thanks for the lift," Bruce said. He hesitated before opening the Cave door. "I’ll…see you night after next, then." That seemed like a really long time from now. "Get some rest."

===

"You too," Clark replied.  "Bye."  When did two days begin to feel like such a long time?  Two days this had been going on, and what a difference it had made.  Two days until this would happen again, and he found it strange how far away that seemed.

His last thought before he fell asleep that night was of Bruce, and the confused look on his face when Clark had handed him that cup of coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

He got out of bed when he was supposed to in the morning, and got ready for work.quickly.  Because he was determined that this would be a good day.  He was going to be productive at work, Superman would return to operating in daylight hours (being as vigilant as he had to be at night), and he wasn’t going to even  _think_  about anyone that he wasn’t going to see all day.  And it was going to be great.

When he walked into the office, he found Jimmy trying and failing to flirt with Cat Grant while Steve Lombard stood by with a few crude comments at the ready.  Lois was sitting at her desk and Perry was standing over her, arms crossed, and they were having a  _heated discussion_ about how she had apparently been phoning it in on recent Superman pieces.

All in all, it was the start of a normal day.

===

Bruce didn’t sleep. He did manage to get a sting operation set up for the GCPD, though. That made him feel like he was getting somewhere.

“What’s my next appointment?” he asked Alfred, standing from his chair in the Batcave.

“End-of-term conference, if I recall, sir.”

Bruce flashed a frown. “I’m going to run the grounds. Make sure this finishes transferring to Gordon, will you?” The extra layer of encryption was making it take longer than it should.

“Of course, sir. And how shall you like your eggs to be thrown out?”

“Over easy, please.”

&&&

The conference was quite possibly the most uninteresting thing he had ever been a witness to. He could have been given a packet and read everything the man in front of him was saying, and he wouldn’t have had to listen to him mispronounce the DBTY stock as  _dih-booty_  every single time.

And Bruce wasn’t a child, not by a long shot. But he casually leaned his head against his hand and turned on the mic.

===

Clark was sitting at his desk, typing quickly, when he first heard sound on the other end of the line.  He didn’t think anything of it, perhaps Bruce was just checking in on him midday to see that he hadn’t run into any trouble.  But when he heard the sonorous voice going on about business, he realized Bruce must have been in a meeting and had probably connected by accident.

But then he heard something that really sounded like the word “booty,” and he couldn’t help but be intrigued.

"What am I hearing?" he said low.  "Are you and the fellow pirates of industry getting the booty?"

===

The moment Clark said anything, Bruce felt embarrassed. Completely and utterly embarrassed. He’d blame it on an accident. Yes, it was an accident. He was just bored out of his mind and needed to keep his head from falling over.

&&&

Bruce all but ran out of the office after the meeting. He had nothing else business-wise, not until tomorrow, so he could get away with that. It was 8 and a half hours until sunset, just 8 and a half hours. And then 24 hours after that he would be back in Superman’s arms and—

 _Stop_. He was breathing heavy, his body felt like he had been running for his life. He knew the panic. He knew how to control it. By the time the elevators opened in the lobby, he was back to his smiling Brucie self.

He had no idea what had happened to him in there.

===

When he heard absolute silence on the other end he had to chide himself for saying anything.  It hadn’t been appropriate, him teasing Bruce like that, and he knew it.  Bruce was working, always working, and he shouldn’t have said anything, should have just ignored it.  But he had thought for a moment, a lovely little moment, that Bruce might like to talk to him… but that hadn’t been, and now he had scared him away.  But, if he was being honest with himself, he had been hoping for a chance to hear that voice.  

Still, it shouldn’t have happened, no matter the thin, pathetic reason for why he did it.

There was the chance that Bruce had turned on the comm by accident and switched it off because he was busy, and he could have laughed about it later.  It might be a joke for them at some point.  But that seemed like wishful thinking.  It occurred to him that Bruce might not have wanted to talk to him  _at all_ , but he suppressed those thoughts.  As dangerous as the other ideas had been, that right there was emotional kryptonite.

He felt so conflicted about the incident that he didn’t even turn his comm on and say anything when Superman had to talk down an attempted suicide on the bridge over Hob’s River.  He stayed on high alert while he was up there, and luckily he was able to talk the man down.  But he figured it was just as well he didn’t have Bruce listening to him on the other end.  He had more or less said not to bother him in the daylight hours, so he didn’t.

When he went back to work, he found the number to the Venkateshes’ home and called to see if Amir was still in the hospital, saying that he was working on a piece about the damage done lately by drunk drivers.  It turned out the Amir had been discharged from the emergency room and was resting at home now.

After he was done with work for the day, he went to the Venkatesh home, a brownstone in Queensland Park.  He met, talked to, and played with the three children, wished Amir a speedy recovery, and got a recipe from his wife.  It wasn’t until he was leaving that he remembered with the tiniest pang that it had been just after he’d met Amir and brought Bruce that coffee that he’d said he wouldn’t be seeing Clark the next day.  He had to cringe at the memory… because if talking to him had been wrong,  _that_  had certainly been even worse.

But as he had pointed out to Lois on more than one occasion, he was an adult, not a schoolboy with a crush… so he could put all of that out of his mind.  Or at least he tried.

When he got home, he actually heaved  a little sigh of relief.  Maybe it was good he wouldn’t be seeing Bruce.  The break might do him some good.

===

He called Miranda the moment he got into the car. “Good afternoon, Miss Dae.”

“Bruce, what a surprise.” She sounded like she was smiling. “I hope you’re not planning on inviting me out this evening.”

“Oh? And why not?”

“Movie night. Happens once a year.”

Bruce found himself going through Brucie’s usual, over-the-top expressions, even when she couldn’t see him. “Once a year?”

“It’s my father’s birthday,” Miranda explained on a sigh. “He likes it when we all watch movies together.”

“Ah. So I take it O’Malley’s is out of the question?”

“I’m afraid so, Mister Wayne. Unless you got any tricks up your sleeve.”

“ _Hmm_.” Bruce ran his hand across his chin. “Well I don’t think inviting myself over would be a good idea—”

Miranda laughed straight out of her heart. “That is a  _terrible_  idea.”

“—but what if I invited  _you_  over for lunch? Assuming you haven’t eaten, of course.”

Miranda made a contemplative noise. “Well, well, Mister Wayne. You’re in luck. I haven’t had a bite since breakfast.”

Bruce grinned. “Excellent. I’ll have a four-course meal and three rounds of dessert, all served on golden platters with the finest wine in the realm.”

“Mm, make it mead and I’m yours.”

“Done. And hell, I may even have you home in time for movies.”

&&&

It hadn’t actually been a four-course meal, which Miranda was visibly grateful for. “Alfred would’ve killed me if I actually asked that. Normally we hire a whole kitchen for that sort of thing.”

She stopped in front of an antique globe suspended between ornate brass. Her heels barely made a sound on the plush carpet, and there wasn’t even a speck of dust for her to run her fingers through. “So it’s just and the butler, is it? Not including party staff, I assume.”

“And post-party staff,” Brucie added, smiling almost ashamedly. “There can be a lot to clean up after a Wayne Manor event.”

“Really?” Miranda turned her gaze languidly on Bruce. It was a flawless expression, a perfectly honed look that she probably practiced with in front of a mirror. Or maybe she made minute changes to over time, carefully scrutinizing her suitor’s reactions, subtly changing every muscle until she always got the reaction she wanted.

Bruce moved himself close to her, could feel her as if she were actually touching him. Her smile turned warm, her eyes went lidded. He watched her pupils grow into deep black pools.

“Though I should say,” Brucie began, voice low and smooth, “I would have liked to see a Dae family movie night.”

“Mm, meet the parents, huh? That would imply we’re dating.”

Bruce mimicked her smile from before. “What if I said we were?”

“I would have to point out the Lane girl your butler mentioned.” Miranda rocked her shoulders in mock dominance.

“Mm.” Bruce let himself slip away as he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. This he knew. This he could control. “What if I told you that went no where because I couldn’t stop thinking of you?”

Miranda leaned forward and kissed him.

&&&

She left in time for movies. Bruce spent some time sitting in his bed, limbs spread out in all directions, and felt…nothing. It had all been fine and dandy when she was there, when he had something to focus on and something else to ignore. And now, there was nothing.

The Bat signal lit up the sky. He could imagine the beep his computer made in the ‘Cave.

It was time to go.

&&&

Batman made it to the rooftop in under fifteen minutes.

“I think that’s your fastest time yet,” Jim said. He had his pipe out again, already lit. “Slow night?”

“Something like that. Did your men get the sting to work?”

“Had to postpone. The bait bailed on the last minute.”

Batman didn’t even flinch. “What do you need?”

“New gem someone wants to risk getting stolen. But that can wait.” Jim stopped to suck on his pipe, then he began dumping out the tobacco, looking down as it fell. “Listen, Batman, there’s no easy way to ask this, so I’m just…” He looked up and leveled his gaze. “Did you pick up a sidekick these last few days, by any chance? Young woman, eighteen to twenty years old?”

Bruce felt every muscle in his body freeze. “ _What_.”

“One of my men spotted a, uh, a  _Batgirl_. During a patrol. She was in the middle of climbing a fire escape. Even snapped a picture on his cell before she got over the rooftop.” Jim had his phone out and turned it to face Bruce. Bruce didn’t touch it. “And one of my undercover boys confirmed that a Bat _girl_  broke the drug lord he was working for. Literally broke, she snapped two fingers and gave him a splitting concussion. So I’m going to ask you again: did you pick up a sidekick in these past few days?”

 _Batbrat_. The word sat in the center of Bruce’s mind. “ _No_ ,” Batman growled back. He left the rooftop as quick as possible, then put his fingers to the comm. “Superman,  _get over here_.”


	3. Chapter 3

He’d thought that it was a good thing that he wasn’t going to be seeing Bruce that evening.  But when he got the call, and his voice sounded tense, all he could think was that something was wrong.  Because that wasn’t how this worked, him calling Clark in for help.

"On my way," he replied, already changing.

He landed outside the cave as he was used to doing, because at least  _that_  made sense.

===

When Clark didn’t show up, Bruce let out an angry snarl. But he couldn’t be mad at Clark, that was his fault. His anger had lead him to forgetting that Superman, unlike Batman, did not have sixteen different methods of tracking someone.

"I’m in the city, Wilson and London." Bruce ran over to the corner. "Follow the road from my house, first left, 82 north and you should be able to see me after a mile."

===

"Right," Clark said, shaking his head once, chiding himself for forgetting something he hadn’t known to begin with.  He set out the way Batman had told him and came in for a landing.  He felt the need to keep some distance, like those first few times… because whatever had Bruce sounding so tense made Clark feel guilty again.

He just felt like it was probably his fault.  He felt like a lot of things were his fault… a result of feeling responsible for the whole world, his mother would say.

"What’s wrong?" he asked quickly, trying to cover the fact that he felt, for lack of a more descriptive term, weird.

===

"How fast can you find someone?" Batman demanded. "If I gave you a description, could you search the city and find someone for me?"

===

_Huh._

"I… I don’t know how fast I could do that," Clark said.  "I’m pretty sure I could do it, though."  Quirking an eyebrow, he asked, "What’s going on?  You’re sweating like a sinner in church."

===

He was right. Bruce stepped back and took a moment to breath. When he spoke again, he was much calmer, though not completely so.

"There is a girl out there," he said. "Eighteen to twenty years old." He blinked as he recalled the picture. "Red hair, about five-foot-five." He leveled his gaze at Clark, all the Hellfury back in his voice. "And she’s dressed like  _me_.”

===

He furrowed his brows and took a beat to try to process what he was hearing.

"There’s someone pretending to be you and you want me to track this person down and do what?" he asked.

===

"What?  _Do what_? Clar—” Bruce cut himself off, slammed his lips together and drew his head back.  _Breathe, breathe, focus_. He paced. “ _Superman_ ,” Batman began again, rounding on the kryptonian, “there is a  _girl_ , a young girl, trying to play vigilante in this city.  _Eighteen_  to  _t_ _wenty_ years old, dressing up  _like me_ , affiliating herself  _with me_ , in  _this. City_.”

Riddler, Joker, Ivy, Two-Face and Penguin all bubbled up in front of his face. And the mafia dons, the various families all vying for control of drug and other trafficking. A hundred names and a hundred ways to die ran so fast through his mind he barely had time to imagine the blood but he did, he could see all six pints of it. And at the center of it all was a high school kid who thought the idea of being a vigilante was nothing short of cinema romance.

"This isn’t  _Metropolis_. People  _die_  when they’re affiliated with me.” And he could see that, too. A chain of friendships and romances going all the way back to the two gunshots that started it all. Some were in graves. One, at least, was in Arkham.

===

Sure, he could see it.  It made sense that in this dangerous city he wouldn’t want anyone taking on what he had put on himself.  He had trained his body and mind and still continued to hone himself, but some amateur (who was practically a kid, at that) wouldn’t have the ability to watch herself the way he did.

"I understand that," he replied, perhaps a bit more shortly than he meant to.  "But what am I supposed to do?  Track down every redhead of a certain height and age and bring them to you?"

===

Batman glared. “No. Just the one wearing the  _Batgirl_  costume.” He moved to the other end of the roof and pulled out his grappling hook.”

===

"Has it occurred to you that she may take it off every once and a while?" Clark asked, a little offended by the tone Batman had taken and that damn look on his face.

He almost reminded him that he didn’t have to do it at all, but no.  He wasn’t going to pick a fight.  Plus, he had a point about this… this girl was in danger.

===

"Then we search every night until we find her with it on," Batman said between his teeth. "I have messages to send.  _Find her_.” He swung off over the street.

===

Clark took a deep breath.  And then another.  Bruce Wayne really was the single most infuriating man he’d ever met.

Clark marveled over the fact that Bruce had him taking his orders and but was still saying vague things like, “I have messages to send.”

_He is never going to trust you.  Not really.  He may work with you and not hate you, but…_

He didn’t have time to finish that thought.  They’d find Batgirl, they’d find the assassin, and then that would be it.  

He took off.

===

The night hovered like a foul odor around him. The city made its usual sounds — cars, horns, dogs and sirens — but in front of him neon lights buzzed as they spelled out its name:

_My_ _Alibi_

Batman stepped inside without so much as a smoke grenade behind him.

Everyone inside went dead silent. All eyes turned towards him, watching, waiting, tense and focused. Peanut shells cracked under his boots, the bartender set down the drink he was pouring and walked away. He had nothing to do with this. Their money was just as good as anybody’s money, he said.

Batman stopped in the center of the room. A man raised a bottle to his head. When all was said and done, eleven writhing bodies laid out on the floor.

Glaring with the cold confidence of an impending winter, Batman snatched the nearest conscious man by his collar and hauled him into the air. “If I find out she’s missing  _one hair_  on her head—”

“I-I-I don’t know what you talkin’ ‘bout man, who’s this girl—”

Batman jerked him closer. He pissed himself and shut up. “Tell your boss  _Mancinni_ ,” Batman began again, “that if I find  _one hair_  out of her head, it will be  _his_  head next. _And I won’t stop at a hair_.” He dropped the man to the floor. Batman had two more places to hit tonight.

===

He didn’t have much to go on.  Not much at all.

He wondered if it had occurred to Batman that this girl might wear a wig with her costume.  Or she could wear one in every day life.  

He flew over Central Park and only saw one redhead, but she was almost half a foot too tall.  On the streets downtown he saw a couple of redheads, one was much too old and the other too short.  He saw someone with a long red ponytail cutting down an alley, right age and right height.  He was optimistic that this would end quickly until he got just a little closer and saw that the person in question was a guy.

He sighed and scratched his head.  He had done a great many ridiculous things in his time, but this had to be near the top of the list.

===

Oswald Cobblepot, aka Penguin, glanced up from the papers in front of him. “I assume you’re here for the girl,” he said. He turned the page. “You do realized that I’m attempting to set up a legitimate business, don’t you?”

"We both know that means nothing in Gotham," Batman said.

Penguin snickered once. “I supposed you might think that.” He went back to reading.

Batman waited.

"What?" Penguin asked. "I don’t have her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of your little sidekick since she started popping up. But did you see what ended up happening to James? Dreadful." He forced a shudder. "I shudder at the thought of what she might do to me, were I in my old ways." Then, with a wicked-toothed smile, he looked up under his eyebrows. "I also shudder at the thought of what Mancinni might—"

Batman flipped the table in a whirl of papers and Penguin’s screams. It landed on top of the short and plump man, but before he could wiggle his way out from under it Batman stomped on it, causing Penguin to heave as all the air was pushed out of his lungs.

"Okay, okay, message received," he rasped.

Batman leaned in close. “Your roof isn’t up to code. There’s snow in Gotham, after all.” With a strangled gurgle, Penguin quickly nodded his head. Batman pushed himself off the table and made for the door.

Penguin wheezed, one hand on his chest, as he quickly pulled himself out. “It won’t last forever,” he called after Batman. “Mancinni’s old money. He holds a grudge worse than—”

But Batman was gone.

===

The search for this Batgirl turned up nothing.  Whoever she was, wherever she was, she was slippery.  She might be better than Batman expected.

Clark flew home and wondered if that had been the thing that Bruce had said he had to do in Gotham.  Probably not… he seemed too panicked to have known about it for any amount of time.

It was hardly his concern either way.

He hoped that all of this — the assassin, Batgirl, everything — would be wrapped up soon.  Things would be so much more simple when all of this, including the feelings for Bruce he was fighting to control, were just memories. 

===

Batman didn’t bother checking in with Superman; the tracer in the communicator said he was back in Metropolis. Part of him wanted to, part of him  _really wanted to_ , just so he would get the chance to yell at something. He was frustrated, he was angry, and he really needed to blow off some steam. And it would be so easy to get angry with Clark for leaving the search early, he really could see himself doing it. But perhaps that was what made him decide not to: it would be too easy.

And yet, after an hour and a half at the punching bag, he still considered doing it.

Alfred hadn’t bothered bringing him food or coffee. Bruce sat in front of his computer and compiled three lists of the top ten likely suspects, all for various reasons, and began digging through their electronic history. Purchases for clothes, tools, sewing supplies, parts, anything that would imply the woman was preparing to be Batgirl. He went back a year for each search.

It was going to take some time to go through 30 suspects, what with all the infiltration and decryption the computer was going to have to preform. Bruce decided to go back to the gym.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said, standing at attention just inside the gym door. Bruce saw the medical kit on the bench and scowled.

"What is it?"

"You bandages need changing, sir," Alfred replied.

"I do not have time—"

“ _Bruce_.”

Bruce slammed his mouth shut. Alfred’s glower was just as professional as the rest of him, and somehow far more deadly than it had any right to be.

He sat down on the bench and let Alfred clean his wound.


	4. Chapter 4

It was interesting.  When Clark woke up in the morning, he was in a good mood.  He had expected to feel mopey, dejected, confused, maybe even angry… but he didn’t.  He was dealing with things well, because that was what well-adjusted people did.

He went to work, and it was an uneventful day.  Superman put out a house fire and helped fix a busted water main, which was a pretty slow day for him.  He stayed at attention, noticed everything and listened to everything, always being fully aware of his surroundings, because the assassin was still out there, and because he wasn’t checking in with Batman.

After work, Clark flew to Kansas and had dinner with his parents.  It had been too long since he had paid them a visit, and going home always helped to clear his head.  He didn’t tell them what was going on because there was no way to tell them anything without first telling them about the assassin, and he couldn’t do that.  He didn’t believe in keeping secrets from his folks, hated to do it, but he didn’t want to worry them if he didn’t have to.  He was hopeful it’d be over soon… he could tell them once the danger was passed.

He waited until some time after dark to head back to Metropolis.  He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to wait for Batman’s call or if he was just supposed to return to the search as soon as the sun went down.  But he had things to do himself.  He’d get there when he got there.

===

"So," Alfred began, dabbing a damp cotton ball against the edges of the burn, "are you going to tell me what happened last night, or shall I rummage through your recent history and make my own deductions?"

Bruce sighed. “There’s a kid trying to be my sidekick out there. She’s been spotted wearing a makeshift bat costume and beating up Mancinni’s boys.”

"Hmph. Kid’s going to get herself killed."

Bruce watched Alfred worked. His hands felt old and distant on his skin. “I’m trying to find her. Talk some sense into her, get her to stop.”

Alfred quirked a smile. “You mean you’re going to glare her down before yelling.”

Bruce had retort to that, but he closed his mouth and looked away.

"I remember, not too long ago, a young man telling me about his idea to dress up as a bat and parade around the city at night," Alfred said. Bruce looked back to see him preparing the new gauze patch with some Neosporin. He frowned when he read  _plus pain relief_ on the tube, but Alfred tossed another glare at him. He looked away again.

"Look, I’m not saying you should let this girl continue doing what she’s doing. In fact, I would encourage you to have her stop," Alfred continued, taping the gauze down. "But she’s young, she’s naive, and not everyone can shove their emotions away in a far corner like you do."

Bruce scowled. “Her emotions are not—”

"I wasn’t finished." Alfred pointed sternly with a wound Ace bandage. He began wrapping it around Bruce’s torso. “Just try to remember what you were going through when you made that decision. For all you know, it’s the same damn thing.”

&&&

He checked on the Bat computer around 4 pm and saw an estimated 3 hours remaining. He had already spent his day between the gym and the pool. He could go back, Bruce could always go back. There was always a new limit to breach or a new goal to set. But right now he decided to work.

The Luthor case was splayed out on the desktop around him. Every picture of the book had been printed and annotated, every document on the space station and the battle suits was pinned up on a board beside him. He had a tablet out and was scanning through what hadn’t been printed. It was all here, he  _knew_  it was all here. It was just that every angle he tried, he eventually thought of two escape routes. He started to think that maybe he should take a chance and hope that neither Luthor nor none of his brigade of lawyers would see the routes, but he could never fully convince himself of that.

Bruce checked the clock. Sunset was still too long away. For a brief fleeting moment he thought about calling Clark, but the idea was shot down almost as soon as he recalled their last conversation. Clark had been nervous about something, and Bruce was sure that to Clark it was something important, but it wasn’t important enough for him to tell Bruce about it and it sure as hell wasn’t important enough to give Bruce such a condescending attitude for helping him save a life. Bruce felt a wave of anger boil over his chest at the thought. Here he was, putting his whole attention on  _saving Clark’s life_ , and the guy couldn’t look less thrilled about maybe doing a favor in return.

 _Some Superman_ , Bruce thought bitterly. He sneered at the papers in front of him. He was getting no where, he needed a break. He decided to call Miranda.

&&&

Miranda was soft and small beneath him. She squirmed and squealed and moaned as he bit down on her neck, leaving another of a dozen such marks. It only made her enjoy it more, he noticed.

If he thought about it, this wasn’t that difficult to do. It was even enjoyable in its own way. She read like an open book, and it was all too easy to predict her next move before she even thought of it. That gave him some comfort. He started to think, and not for the first time, that maybe he was actually bi.

But when all was said and done, Bruce slowly opened his eyes to find his head buried between two perky breasts. He was panting heavily.

“Dear  _God_ ,” Miranda breathed, raking her nails through his hair. Bruce closed his eyes and tried to imagine it was someone else doing that. “You are  _insatiable_. I think I came twice.”

Bruce forced a small for as long as he could, if only because that was the appropriate response, and he knew Miranda would be able to feel it. “I aim to please.” The words tumbled out like a record.

Miranda chuckled above him. “Hey, where’re you going?” she said.

“Money never sleeps,” Bruce replied, much more in character now. He crawled out of bed and felt like he was bursting full of energy despite how limp he was.

“Mm, money should come back to bed.”

“Sorry Dae,” Brucie replied. He tied his robe around him and pecked her on the lips. “Alfred will take you home. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

Miranda was already cuddling into the pillows. “Sure thing, Bruce.”

&&&

It took forty-five minutes for Bruce to get the notification from Alfred that Miranda had made it home safely. That was twenty-three minutes longer, nearly twice the amount of last time. If this continued, he was going to have a problem.

Not as big as the problem he was hunting down in his city, though. Barbara Gordon,  _Barbara-fucking-Gordon_  was sitting at the top of his list. And everything lined up, from the childhood martial arts training to the fact that she had access to police work through her father. Five-foot-five, 140 pounds, red hair.

Batman followed her from the precinct and caught her wrist as she climbed out of her bedroom window. “We need to talk.”

===

He had done a quick patrol in Metropolis and come back to his apartment to wait and see if he would get the call from Batman.  But when he didn’t, he had to wonder if maybe Bruce was upset with him from how things had gone the night before.  

Well, if he  _was_  upset, he could join the club.

But still.  Clark looked over at his computer and wondered.  And then he worried.  It was entirely possible that Batman had run into trouble… and he didn’t deserve to have to deal with it alone because Clark had hurt feelings.

He flew back to Gotham quickly.  He headed for the Cave first, and when he realized no one was there, he flew over the city, scanning everything, looking everywhere.  In one of the seedier parts of town, there was a little row of houses that looked like they should have been condemned a decade ago.  And in one of them, he heard a familiar heartbeat.  He used his x-ray vision to confirm that Batman was inside, and with him was…

He had found her.

Clark landed lightly outside the house and heard the yelling.  It was excessive, to say the least.

Pushing the door open, he simply said, “Batman.  I think that’s quite enough.”

===

The chair creaked as Barbara leaned to peak around Batman. It was the only sound the room made.

“ _Leave_ ,” Batman rumbled. He was stone cold in front of her, arms crossed under his cape. “This doesn’t concern you.”

===

"You made me a part of it," Clark retorted, standing tall with his hands on his hips because so help him, he had no plans of knuckling under.  "So it  _does_  concern me.”

===

Those were exactly the wrong words Clark could have chosen.

"I made you part of it," Bruce deadpanned, dropping his shoulders.  _I made you part of it, I_ made you _part of it_. He uncrossed his arms as he turned around, stepping closer and closer with every passing word. “I dragged you out of Two-Face’s net, I took a  _bullet_  for you in Metropolis, I made you the vest so you could keep being Superman, I have slept  _twice_  in the past  _week_  trying to hunt down Luthor for you, and the one thing I asked you to do, you turned around and looked at me like I was  _crazy_!” Bruce was in Clark’s face now, pissed off like a demon, feeling his heart rage with adrenalin in his chest. There was nothing he could do to stop it. “So don’t tell me I  _made you_ part of it,  _Superman_! And  _get out of my city_!”

===

Clark took a deep breath.  ”I have told you time and again how grateful I am for everything you’ve done.”  His instincts told him to step back, both emotionally and physically, but he wouldn’t.  It was too late now.  ”But none of that changes the fact that you asked me to hunt down this girl like…” He couldn’t think of a way to finish that.  Because Bruce had been raving like a crazy person, and he was now screaming at a young girl like a lunatic, but he was turning this around on Clark, as if  _he_  had been ungrateful.  As if by questioning him right now it was a show of ingratitude.

He knew two things: one was that that rant was clearly about more than just what he was saying; the other was that Clark didn’t deserve it.  

He wanted to take a breath and apologize if he had hurt Bruce by what he had said… but he wouldn’t take it back.  He meant it.  But he couldn’t do that… it would fall on deaf ears and possibly make things worse.  Because as upset as he had been with Bruce, and as hurt and frustrated as he’d felt, he didn’t want to see Bruce suffering, because it was obvious from a mile off that he didn’t know how to deal with it.  He didn’t want that for him… because he was his friend.

And if Bruce was going to take all his frustrations out on Clark, that was one thing.  He could take it.  He could shout back, if that was what needed to happen.  But this poor girl, tough and smart though she clearly was, didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of whatever was making Bruce act so… badly.

He did take that step back.  ”Look, no matter how you feel about me right now, that doesn’t make this all necessary,” Clark said.  ”You can talk to her like a rational person and maybe she’ll see your side of things easier than she would with you yelling in her face.”

And he’d regret it, but he wasn’t gonna let it go.

===

He didn’t get it. Bruce stared at Clark and searched his face, glad that cowl was covering his eyes, because no matter how hard he looked he couldn’t see it. There wasn’t a single twitch of a nerve that said,  _I know what you’ve been through_.

Bruce realized that his face had gone soft. He quickly morphed the expression into an icy silence, barely missing a beat. “We’re through here,” he said quietly, as if it were the most casual phrase in the world. Batman pushed his way past Clark…past Superman. “Take her home.”

&&&

Barbara waited until she heard the Batmobile speed away. She picked her mouth up off the floor and stared up at Superman. “Soo,” she dragged out, slowly rising to her feet. She was still in the makeshift Batgirl costume. “Are you gonna tell my dad? ‘Cause I think he’d take it better from him than from you. No offense, but, y’know. They work together. And stuff.” She started wagging both index fingers nervously. “I think I’ll just…call it a night.”

===

 _What am I supposed to do with that?_  he couldn’t help asking himself.

Clark tried to be his friend and it blew up in his face.  Tried to work with him and it blew up in his face.  Everything that happened between them seemed to blow up in Clark’s face.

He felt like he was back at square one with Bruce, because he was obviously hurt and obviously mad about that, but he didn’t know why.  How could he?  Bruce was fighting him to keep him out, and he wasn’t a mind reader.  And Bruce was so good at walking away.

He sighed and turned back to the girl.  He recognized her from the year before, when he and Lois had been sent to Gotham to interview Jim Gordon at the annual Policeman’s Ball.  Batgirl would  _have_  to be the police commissioner’s daughter.

"Well, Miss Gordon, I don’t plan on saying anything to your father," he replied.  "And I suppose he already told you that your father never has to know if this ends now."

She shrugged and gave a little smile.  ”He said something like that.  And I told him that he’s not the boss of me.”

"I’m sure that went over well," Clark said, eyebrow raised.

She shook her head.  ”Oh, yeah.”  Then, standing tall (or as tall as she could) with her hands on her hips, she asked, “So don’t you think you should tell me what that was all about?  Think I’ve got a right to know, now that I’m a part of it,”

Clark shook his head.  ”Come on.  You’re going home, Miss Gordon.”


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce spent the entire meeting thinking about what he had said to Clark.

"…and then we’ve got to consider the fees of—" Lucius looked up from the folder he had open. "Are you even listening to me, Bruce?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, just…thinking of ideas." Bruce put on a perfect smile.

Lucius was not amused. “About what.”

"Y’know, the…the—"

"The business merger? That one you so adamantly refused to give up on just three days ago?"

Brucie snapped his fingers. “Yes! That! That’s the one.” He laughed heartfully, then wiped the smile off his face. “Sorry, Lucius. But I am thinking about ideas.”

He thought about everything he could have said instead.

&&&

Alfred was staring down at the phone in the study, one finger ready to turn the old fashioned dial. He had a slip of paper open in his hand, and he immediately crumbled it when Bruce made a sound on the door.

"Oh, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "I thought you were in the Cave already. I was just about to go down and ask what you would like for supper."

“Call Miranda and ask her,” Bruce replied, narrowing his eyes. “You know I’m not picky.”

“Ah, right.” Alfred hesitated, then he straightened himself out and lifted his chin. “I actually wanted to talk to you about your relationship with Miss Dae. It seems to me that you’ve taken a, uh, _longer_  fancy to her than most others. I…I was wondering if you had any plans that I ought to know about.”

Bruce stared at him with unquestionably calculating eyes. “No, Alfred. See that the garden patio is set for dinner.”

Alfred looked as though he were about to say one thing, but his manners overcame him and all that came out was a proper, “Of course, Master Bruce. If you’ll pardon me…”

Bruce stepped aside for Alfred. Watching him make his way down the hallway, Bruce couldn’t help but wish Alfred had said what he really wanted to say.

He had seen the last four digits of Clark’s number, after all.

&&&

Barbara did not quit being Batgirl. Bruce did not have the heart to tell her to stop, because even if he told her dad and her dad grounded her for life, she would still find a way. That he realized after he witnessed her take down Mancinni’s entire operation single-handed.

Well, nearly single-handed. Batman had to intervene with a well-placed batarang. “Good job,” he said to the empty night air. She couldn’t hear him. But she did take the batarang home with her.

===

Clark spent most of the night thinking about how Bruce had laid into him.  It wasn’t as if he didn’t have a point… Bruce had done a lot for him, a lot of it in the beginning without the benefit of any kind of friendship.  (He wasn’t even sure if they could honestly say they had that now, or if they ever really did.  But he had certainly thought…)  And he would have helped Bruce with anything.  If he could go back and change anything, it would be to make that clear.  His objections had never been to helping Bruce with something so important to him.  It was to the way that he’d set out like that girl was his enemy.  He understood that Bruce didn’t want anyone else making the choices he had made for himself… but he couldn’t approve of the way Bruce had acted… with Barbara and with him.

By the time the sun came up, he realized he’d been laying awake in bed all night, just thinking.  It hadn’t taken all night for him to wish things had gone very differently.  It hadn’t taken very long at all for him to realize that Bruce was a difficult and vulnerable man, but he was a good one… and he wanted very much to have him in his life.

&&&

Clark was sitting in the office a couple of days later, and on his computer was an online gossip blog.  It was an entry from some time back… pictures of Bruce Wayne in Kasnia.  There were even a few cell phone shots from the party, a couple of which had Clark in them.  You could just see him if you knew where to look.

"Earth to Smallville," Lois was saying.  "Clark!  You’re about a million miles from here."

"Hm?" he asked, sitting up.  She had been saying something and he had hardly been listening.

Lois came up behind him and saw what was on his screen before he had a chance to close it down.  ”Oh, sweetie,” she began, sounding a little surprised and a little amused.  ”Has this weird mood you’ve been in been about him?  I thought we were over all of that.”

"This is not what you think," Clark said, closing the page.

"Of course not," Lois said sarcastically.  "I was right, though, wasn’t I?  There was something going on between you, wasn’t there?"

Clark sighed heavily.  There had been something, but not what she thought.  And now he just missed his friend… and there was no way to explain that.  ”Lois, please.”

"Well," she began with a sigh of her own.  "Don’t get yourself so worked up.  I’m sure whatever your problem is, you can get it sorted out."  And Clark nodded because he very much hoped Lois was right.

&&&

The only thing left to figure out was the happy medium between going to Bruce and trying to patch things up and giving him his space entirely.

But he knew one thing for certain, and he’d known this all along… even when he wouldn’t accept it.  He really wasn’t going to give up on this.

===

The second sting operation for the jewel thief had gone off without a hitch. For the thief.

"We’ve got a real damn cat burglar on our hands," Jim said, pacing on the rooftop. "I knew I should have asked you to come along." He quickly turned and held out a hand apologetically. "Not that I’m blaming you, you understand, I know you’re dealing with the power vacuum of Mancinni’s arrest. That’s got actual lives at stake, not just some fat cat’s crown jewels."

"Bruce Wayne isn’t exactly what you might call a  _fat cat_ ,” Batman said. Alfred was still livid with him for using his mother’s pearls like that, even after he found out Bruce had switched them for an entirely too convincing replica.

"You could have bloody told me!" the man had yelled. But after Bruce explained that not only did he switch the real ones with fake ones, but he put a really dazzling tracking device in the centerpiece. Alfred’s lips had twitched upwards as if he might smile at the sheer cunning, but then the signal went dead. The tracker had been destroyed.

Alfred grinned. “You’re being outsmarted by a  _cat_ , Master Bruce. Maybe you ought to get a dog.”

Bruce sunk into his chair. He honestly considered it.

&&&

It was a relatively restful night for Bruce. Yet still, he woke after only two hours and found Miranda staring back at him.

"Why do you always keep your eyes closed when we have sex?" she asked.

Bruce noticed the sun was up. She had stayed the night, then. He barely remembered her still being in bed when he came in from patrol.

He rolled away from her and went to the gym.

&&&

 _Left, left, knee_. Bruce recited the movements in his mind. Every punch and every kick made a satisfying  _thunk_  against the bag in front of him. He felt the force jolt his arms, he felt shock waves ride up his abdomen. Sweat dripped from his eyebrows, from his chin. It was good. It was really good.

Bruce liked to think when he worked out, not about anything in particular. He liked to let his mind wander. It was one of the few times he felt…relaxed.

He played the fight out before him, an old fight, one he had lived a hundred times over. He had to factor in age differences, height, weight. Things were different back then. He had to think about everything he knew, everything he was aware of. As a child he liked to imagine he knew more than he did, but as he grew older, he only became more and more aware of how much he couldn’t do.

He slammed his fist into the bag before sinking towards it, panting as the images faded away. His heart was a freight train burying itself in his chest.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never stop the bullets.

 _I’m different,_   _too._

Bruce groaned into the punching bag, and then he forced his eyes open and studied the material, calculated what its mass could do when dropped from various heights. If he closed his eyes again, he would see a man in red and blue, with a smile as warm as his arms.

"Sir," Alfred said. Bruce jerked his head up and turned. Momentarily, Alfred looked like he had startled a lion. "Miss Dae has gone home, and Miss Gordon has arrived in the Bat Cave, dressed for the occasion."

Bruce let out a breath. Right, he gave instructions to Barbara about one of the entrances, a long tunnel from within the city. He was going to give her some formal equipment.

"Alfred, is my—"

"I’ve already moved your uniform to the trunk in your bedroom."

Bruce nodded. “Good. Keep an eye on her with the monitors, I’ll go down through the shaft.”

He took a quick shower, just enough to rinse everything off, and started dressing. When he picked up his cape, he noticed the tiny communicator tumble out from between the fabric. Bruce held it in his hands. All he had to do was push one tiny little button, swallow his pride, say he was sorry, and…and make an even bigger fool out of himself than he was already.

He left it in the trunk.

&&&

"Soo, whaddya call it?" Barbara asked, walking her fingers across the top of the Bat computer’s keyboard.

Batman stared. “A computer.”

"No, like, what’s it’s name? I call mine Oracle." She looked at him not unlike the way he had seen Miranda do before.

"Get off the desk," Batman demanded. Barbara immediately fell to her feet and looked not unlike a deer caught in headlights. Satisfied, he continued, "Armory’s this way. Have you been practicing with the one I gave you?"

"Yup. Set up some targets and I’ll show you."

She missed all but two. This was going to be hell, Bruce realized.

&&&

Little did any of them know, Lex Luthor had just unlocked his cell phone and sent a quick message to Mercy. “It’s time,” was all it said.

===

Clark hadn’t had a chance to sit down at his desk for ten minutes all together all day.  It had been a busy day, one minor crisis after another, but nothing major.  He was always thankful for days where nothing major happened.  But it was still strange… like he should have been expecting the other shoe to drop.  So he stayed on his guard, always on his guard.  

But all things considered, it wasn’t turning out to be a bad day.  Everyone he’d helped had been happy and appreciative and he’d gotten two repeat offenders off the street.

He was flying back towards the office, deciding where he’d change out of his uniform and what excuse he’d give for disappearing yet again (especially since Perry had said that if he stepped out of the bullpen one more time his “chair would start to get lonesome for his corn-fed ass”) when he felt… sick all of a sudden.  

No.  Sick didn’t describe it.  Wretched.  He felt wretched.

He didn’t realize he was plummeting until he saw how close the street was.  He couldn’t fall onto the street.  He couldn’t.  There was a lot of traffic and he’d cause accidents and people would be hurt.  He tried to change his trajectory but he was almost too weak.

He hit the sidewalk and a crowd began to gather.  He was somewhat stunned by how he felt… like something had knocked not just the air out of him, but also the energy and all the strength.

"Oh my God! Superman!" a voice had said.

"Is he okay?" another voice asked.

A third voice began to recite the Lord’s Prayer.  At least it wasn’t the Last Rites.

He had to get up.  He couldn’t let these people stand around him, fearing for his life.  He pawed at his side and felt…

Oh God.  The assassin.  He’d been shot.  Thank goodness for the vest.  Thank goodness for Bruce.  It hadn’t pierced his skin.  All of this was just the radiation.  He couldn’t begin to imagine would it would have felt like had it been lodged under his skin.  He couldn’t imagine how fast it would have killed him.  He pulled the bullet, a jagged shard of Kryptonite, out of his clothes and threw it as far as he could, which was not as far as he’d have liked.

He staggered back to his feet and people tried to swarm him to make sure he was okay.  But he couldn’t stick around and reassure them.

He was unsteady as he tried to take off again, and though it wasn’t easy, he got into the air.  He wasn’t flying as fast or as high as he would have liked, but this would have to do.

He thought he had been on high alert before, but now he was hyper aware of his surroundings.  So he saw the second bullet coming and was able to dodge it.  Just barely.

He thought of turning on the communicator, but it had been days of resolute silence on both ends.  He didn’t have time to take the chance of making a call that might go unanswered.

===

"Step with your right foot when you thro—" Bruce whipped his head around at the siren going off. He felt Barbara turning beside him, heard the clink of two batarangs being set together. His blood cooled in his veins, and he all but ran over to the computer.

One of the news scanners had picked up a trigger phrase. “Breaking news with Superman!” the recorded footage announced. Bruce checked the delay: thirty-two seconds. He slammed his fingers across the touch screen and opened a live channel.

"…and it appears to be a robot has attacked Superman," Lois was saying, cringing as the robot in question suddenly crashed into the street behind her, flipping two cars in the air with the force of his impact.

"Oh Su-per-man, come out and pla-ay!" the loudspeakers on the robot boomed.

Bruce’s eyes went wide. That wasn’t a robot. That was Lex’s battle suit. That meant the assassin was inside.

"Authorities are urging people to evacuate! Jimmy,  _run_!” Lois yelled above the commotion. The feed went dead, and the anchors were quickly returned to the screen.

"Holy shit," Barbara whispered beside him.

Bruce ran for the hanger.

"Hey, wait, whaddo I do?!"

“ _Stay!_ ”

&&&

Once up in the air, cruising at a little above the jet’s maximum safe speed, Bruce gave himself one moment, just one moment, to let all the air out of his lungs.

"Current velocity has your ETA in about 20 minutes," Barbara said over the radio.

Bruce wished he had his comm unit.


	6. Chapter 6

The battle suit was impressive in person.  He had tried to imagine how it would look when he had seen the rough sketches, but this?  It was like something out of a movie.  A big-budget, sci-fi, special effects extravaganza.

Power wise, he and the suit were a good match.  He’d throw a punch and the assassin in the suit would block it, the suit would grab for him and he’d just barely evade getting caught.  As it was, his cape was ripped beyond repair.

He took a hard swing at the suit when he thought of his mother and how she had sewed him the cape, stitching the S-shield on by hand, and holding it up proudly when she was done. 

The kryptonite bullets must have been limited because he had only had to dodge one more after the initial two.  It was entirely possible, and completely likely, that the assassin was trying to give him a false sense of security.  If he got complacent, he’d be an easier target.  Fighting the suit up close like this, if he took one of the bullets, that’d probably be it.

It was likely that Luthor was about to win.

He was regretting not telling his parents about the assassin.  They would see on the news that he was dead like everyone else.  They wouldn’t even get a phone call.  The neighbors wouldn’t send flowers and casseroles as people usually did, because the official story would have to be something about Clark having finally taken a job at that little paper in Nome, Alaska.  No one would question if he never came back from there… people went missing in Alaska every day.  More than anywhere else, if he remembered correctly.

He was reminded of something he had said a long time ago about how the official story and the true story are seldom ever the same.

He wouldn’t get to say goodbye to his parents.  He wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Lois, his best friend, but she’d see him die.  Lana Lang was pregnant and he was supposed to be the godfather… but that didn’t seem like it’d be happening.

And he thought of what Metropolis would be like without him there.  It wouldn’t surprise him a bit if it got to be as dark and dangerous here as it was in Gotham.

He took a punch that sent him flying backwards to one of the statues in the park and knocked it over.  It broke into about twelve pieces.

He knew that it was a long shot.  He knew that even if Batman had his communicator on and answered him that he wouldn’t have been able to get to Metropolis in time to be of any help.  But… if he was going to die, and right now it felt like he might, he’d have liked to have someone there, even if he wouldn’t physically be there.  Because there was a huge crowd gathered, but none of them knew him.  He felt… alone, and he didn’t want to die alone.

But Bruce knew him.  Whatever difficulties they had had, he knew Bruce wouldn’t let him die alone.

Pressing the little button for the mic, he decided that giving it a try couldn’t possibly hurt anything.  ”Batman,” he breathed.  ”Batman, are you there?”  He heard the silence, but still he tried.  ”It’s the suit.  Luthor’s suit.”

There was no answer.

Yet another person he wouldn’t get to say goodbye to.

===

The earth shook as he landed right beside Superman. He couldn’t help but let out a belting laugh. “Take a look, Metropolis!” he shouted, reaching down and hoisting Superman by the neck. “Look at your  _fearless defender_  now! And Superman, check it out!”

The man grabbed at part of his suit and ripped it off. A rush of green poured out, bursting in hot waves. “Turns out  _kryptonite_  is the world’s greenest energy!” he said. “Who knew, right?” He turned off the microphone so it was just them. “Okay, this is gonna sound really cheesy, but I’ve been waiting for this moment for six months. But tell me,  _Superman…_ " Crushing his fist around Superman’s throat, he pulled the kryptonian in closer.

"This being the most powerful battlesuit in the world and with enough ammo left to blow your head clean off, you’ve gotta ask yourself a question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’ Well, do ya, punk?”

A batarange landed in the exposed opening.

===

It had happened so quickly.  He’d never had an advantage, but he lost whatever footing he might have had.  He had tried to blast the metal of the suit with his heat vision, but it hadn’t done much.  He’d kicked and squirmed as much as he could.

And then the assassin had ripped that door open and the Kryptonite had radiated out and it felt like it was penetrating him, getting into his blood cells, and rushing to his brain.

He almost wished now that the person who’d been saying the Lord’s Prayer earlier  _had_  said the Last Rite instead.

The batarang was the last clear image he saw before his vision had gone entirely out of focus.  ”Batman,” he mumbled, but it came out as more of a croak, because he was still being held by the throat, feet dangling like a rag doll.  

He slipped out of consciousness after that.

===

"Batgirl, contact the authorities, tell them to get Superman to STAR Labs," Bruce said calmly into their comm link. He detonated the batarang, causing the assassin to drop Superman and stagger back. That was when Batman landed a double-heeled kick to suit’s helmet, toppling it over completely.

The schematics came pouring back to Bruce. Bullfrog jetpack, good for jumps of up to 50 feet; semi-automatic rifle embedded in right arm; and a Kryptonite fuel source coated in a resin to keep things like grenades from destroying it altogether. Stuff’s expensive, and Luthor can’t just keep buying new rocks the same as he could keep buying new assassins.

But as Bruce reached to remove it, the assassin whipped a heavily armed fist at him. Bruce had to grab onto it with his whole body and hold on tight. Lucky him, the assassin didn’t punch him into the ground. Instead he tried flinging Bruce away like water, and Bruce let him do just that. He rolled expertly back to his feet, two more batarangs at the ready. 

"Ahg, crazy  _psycho_!” the metalman bellowed. “You’re not my game, Batman! This isn’t even your city!”

Batman flung the batarangs. The assassin tried to knock them aside, but Batman detonated them just before impact. He was rocked between his feet. Under the cover of the generated smoke, Batman dipped left and jumped on the back of the suit, slapping a device right onto the jetpacks.

“ _Now_!” Batman shouted, pushing himself off.

"On it!" Batgirl replied.

As the assassin turned to face Batman, his jetpacks activated, and he was sent straight up in the air.

A trio of the Metropolis Special Crime Unit burs from cover and dragged Superman away. Batman quickly calculated where the assassin would land and slapped a small plastic explosive on the spot, but just as he rolled out of the way and looked up he saw that it…

…It was flying.

His schematics were out of date.

Bullets started peppering the ground around him. MCPD started firing back; a rocket was launched by the SCU. Batman gritted his teeth and bolted for a grove of trees, the only cover he could find. The explosion from the rocket jolted the very air itself, and with a blood-curdling scream the assassin came crashing to the ground.

“ _Bat-man_!” he roared. His suit was falling to pieces, and part of it was burned into him. It occurred to Bruce that this was less assassin and more mercenary. Vital difference: the mercenary came charging at him in  _rage_.

Batman switched to concussive batarangs and sent off a quick volley. Smoke capsules, ruin his line of sight. The mercenary found him in it anyways, began launching brutally fast punches. Batman couldn’t block, he had to roll them. “Batgirl, do you still have a connection to his suit?”

"Negative, that rocket blasted the—"

Bruce felt white-hot pain burst into his vision. For two seconds, he couldn’t even see. Then there was a hand around his throat and he couldn’t breath.

"You ruined," the mercenary panted, "my contract. Superman, was  _mine_.” Blood dripped down his face and matted brown hair against his scalp.

The urge to survive was unlike anything Bruce had ever encountered before in his life. It wasn’t a thought, it wasn’t an emotion. It wasn’t a second voice telling him to live. It was — it was a switch. He could think he was going to die, he could think he was about to toss in the towel, and he could think,  _It’ll be nice to rest_. He could convince himself that dying wouldn’t be so bad.

And then the switch would flip, and suddenly any other thought would become instantaneously and irrevocably illogical.

Batman saw the damaged shoulder panels and snarled his lips. “Tough luck,” he gasped out. He whipped his legs up, braced them around the mercenary’s chest, and lurched  _hard_.

The mercenary let out a blood-curdling scream as his arm was rolled out of its socket. Bruce didn’t know what sounded worse, the bone or the components that broke with it. He fell out of the mercenaries grasp and delivered the one final punch.

All the screaming stopped. Both mercenary and suit slumped to the ground, and Bruce felt a completely illogical need to stop breathing.

&&&

Paramedics rushed the scene. Batman lilted to one side as he finished ripping out wires, going straight for the Kryptonite. Two members from the MCU had a lead box for him to drop it in.

He heaved as he tried standing. Without the adrenalin, without that switch activated, it was really hard to ignore what had been done to his ribs.

The mercenary knew. He remembered shooting Batman, and he knew exactly where his weak point was. And now some old gal was telling him to get in an ambulance.

"I am not—" Bruce couldn’t finish his sentence.

"You look like you’ve got internal bleeding, if we don’t operate—"

Bruce didn’t hear the rest. He was gone.

&&&

When he woke up, the night had fallen around Metropolis. That or the artificial windows were broken.

"Hey, welcome back," Batgirl said. "Don’t worry, your identity is—"

 _Fuck_! Bruce launched his hands to his face, grabbed at the mask that was still there. He could feel it now, clutching at his skin, the latch unbroken. His body armor had been taken off and looking around he spotted his cape, but that was to be expected.

God, he never thought he would be so happy to wake up in Kevlar.

"So as I was saying, the guys at STAR were pretty cool about not taking the mask off," Batgirl went on. Bruce rolled his, expecting to see her sitting there — and she was on the other end of a Skype call. The duration was…Well, it was over 4 hours. Alfred would be pleased.

"Where’s Superman?" Bruce asked, sinking back onto the pillow. That’s why there were artificial windows, he realized. It hadn’t even occurred to him that it was weird for them to be in here.

===

"Superman had a pretty bad case of Kryptonite poisoning," Barbara went on.  "The STAR Labs guys said they needed to monitor him and all that.  As far as I know, he’s still being monitored.  But the last I heard, they thought he’d be okay."

&&&

He was alive.

When he woke up, hours later probably (no one would tell him for sure), he was surprised to find that he felt more or less normal.  That was why it was frustrating that he was being treated like an invalid.

If he knew his parents, they were waiting at his apartment by now.  He’d like to go hug them both.

And he also wanted to thank Bruce and tell him that as far as he was concerned, the past was done and they should move on now, as friends.  But he wouldn’t say any of that, because Bruce wasn’t really equipped to hear it.  He’d just make some joke and Bruce would pretend he didn’t want to laugh, and things would be fine.

Things would be fine.

===

"Good," Bruce said. He let his head fall back on the pillow. "Good."

&&&

Bruce Wayne was on an impromptu vacation, much to Lucius’ chagrin. He had to go ahead with the proposal without its founding father. He hated doing that, taking credit from Bruce Wayne. Bruce knew that he thought more highly of his public persona than almost anyone else, was probably the only reason Bruce still had control of the family business. Bruce had to change that, he decided.

Batman was, after a little intimidating, escorted to his jet, which was being guarded from the FBI by the MCU. “You saved the guy that inspired us,” their chief told him. “Whatever the government’s got planned, it was worth it.”

&&&

If Alfred had been livid about the pearls, he was melting his own skin when he cracked open the cockpit. The man took one look at Bruce’s torso and said in a voice carrying the heaviest accent Bruce had ever heard, “You are  _never_  going back to Metropolis.”

Bruce chuckled, winced when it hit his ribs. The pain killers from STAR Labs were still kicking around his blood, or it would’ve been much worse. “Gonna be hard not to, Alfred,” he said. “I kind of bought the Daily Planet.”

Alfred’s face stayed the same. He climbed down from the cockpit, leaving Bruce to rot with his injuries. But only until he set up Bruce’s bed so he could never leave again.

===

"You know what the biggest injustice here is?" Lois began in a rant, yanking the paper down from in front of her face.  "That story I did the other day while  _you_  were off helping your cousin  _Francis_ or whoever you were with was probably the best thing I’ve ever written.  Superman attacked in broad daylight, bravely fighting until Kryptonite poisoning made him pass out, and Gotham City’s Batman swooping in at the last moment.  Oh, it was thrilling!  And I captured the whole thing beautifully.”  She shoved the paper onto the desk.  ”And no one cares a thing about it anymore because Bruce Wayne decides  _he_  wants in on the newspaper business.”

Clark shrugged.  He had been assigned the piece about the Planet’s new owner, and it had made the story from the day before about Superman literally yesterday’s news.  ”Them’s the breaks, I guess,” he said with an infuriatingly innocent smile, and for a moment he thought she might slug him.  He wouldn’t have been a bit surprised.

She raised an eyebrow instead.  ”And you’re still going to try and tell me that there’s nothing going on here?”

Clark smiled, almost to himself.  ”If there was, you’d be the first to know.”

&&&

That evening, Clark decided it was time (past time, actually) that he paid Bruce a friendly visit.  So he took off his blue suit from work, put on nice dark blue pants that fit properly and a steel grey dress shirt with a subtle diamond pattern in the weave.  

He turned up at Wayne Manor (and went to the front door just like any normal person) and he had a little gift bag in his hand and a warm smile on his face as he knocked on the door.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred opened the door only part of the way. He slowly raised his chin and cleared his throat. “I see you have found the door.”

==

"Yes, sir," Clark said politely.  "Can I… I mean, is Bruce — Mr. Wayne at home?"

===

Alfred hummed. “Bedridden. Came back from holiday with two broken ribs and a lung that was nearly punctured, where it not for the fact he had an extra coat on to help cushion the blow.” He swung the door open wide and gestured for Clark to come in. “But for you, sir, he has made an explicit exception to show you up right away.”

 

===

Clark couldn’t help but grin.  ”Thanks, Alfred.”

Alfred gave him a knowing look and said, “No trouble, sir.  Right this way.”   Clark followed Alfred up to the third floor and to a large bedroom, but not the largest, Clark noticed.

Alfred gave one knock, which Clark suspected was more for the sake of being able to say he did knock rather than asking for permission to come in, and opened the door.

"You have another visitor, sir," Alfred announced.  "Mr. Kent is here."  Then he motioned to Barbara, who was sitting in a chair across from Bruce’s bed, reading a book.  "I trust you know Miss Gordon?"

Clark smiled.  ”Yes.  I believe we’ve met.”  Clark gave a friendly nod to both her and Bruce and simply said,  ”Hi.”  He felt momentarily awkward… he hadn’t expected to see her of all people at Bruce’s bedside.

===

Bruce looked up and immediately back down at his laptop. He rapidly clicked on a few things before shutting the lid. “Barbara, this is Clark Kent, Daily Planet, here for the—”

"Hey, Supes," Barbara said. Bruce shot her a deathly look, and Barbara rolled her eyes. "You left me alone with the supercomputer in the basement. It’s how I figured this out." She gestured to the room in general.

===

Clark had to laugh once at that.  ”You see, she’s talking like a bat already.  Hello,  _Batgirl_.”  He didn’t have it in him to be upset about her knowing his identity.  She seemed like a trustworthy young woman at any rate.

===

Bruce licked his lips and glanced between the two of them. He had no idea what to do. _  
_

Barbara flattened her lips. “Well,” she announced, swinging herself out of her chair. “I think I’ll just leave you two to it.”

"Five-thirty tomorrow," Bruce said reflexively.

"Sure." She passed by Alfred.

Bruce heard Alfred mutter just low enough to make it seem like he was trying not to be heard. “It’s palpable, isn’t it?”

"Like breathing molasses," Barbara replied. Alfred shut the door behind her.

Bruce felt himself reaching into his Brucie side without even meaning to. “Please, sit,” he said with a broad smile, holding a hand out to the chair. Bruce worked his lips and tried wiping it away, but much to his surprise, he couldn’t get it to completely disappear. He decided to leave what remained. “What brings you here?”

===

Clark paused.  ”Well, I just wanted to drop in and see that you were… on the mend.”  He wrinkled his nose before sitting down in the chair Bruce had offered him.  

It was all so cordial.  He couldn’t let it be like this.

"Hey, I, uh… i brought you something," he said, offering Bruce the bag.  "It isn’t much, just a little gag gift…"  In the small, metallic blue gift bag were two boxes of Band-Aids, one of which contained bandages made to look like Duct Tape and the other had bandages that were little mustaches.  And besides the two of them were two little lollipops that looked like finger bones on sticks.  He didn’t expect Bruce to use any of those things, but he thought they might get a reaction.

===

Bruce snorted and shook his head at the contents. He was smiling, though, the kind that made him embarrassed to look at Clark with it.

"We need to work on your sense of humor," he said, swinging the bag over to the nightstand. "Alfred blames you for all this, by the way. I tried telling him that…"  _That it was all my fault, I wasn’t paying attention, I let myself get carried away_. “…that it wasn’t. I might have convinced him otherwise, but we won’t be able to tell until he serves dinner.”

===

"Is that an invitation?" Clark asked with a little smile.

===

"I… assumed," Bruce said. "I’m sorry, I thought you would only come to get an interview about the acquisition. I thought I would offer dinner, at least, for sitting through it."

 

===

"Oh," Clark said awkwardly.  Business.  "Well, this was actually a… um… a social call."  He gave a little nod.  "I just wanted to…"  _To see you.  I wanted to see you_.  ”I wanted to make sure you were okay.  And to thank you… for making sure that  _I_  was okay.”

===

Of all the things he could ask for, Bruce wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch Clark. He wanted Clark to hold his hand, he wanted Clark to lean over the bed and kiss him on the lips. And he wanted that kiss to go to so many other places…

But he couldn’t. Clark may be gay, but he was under the assumption Bruce was straight. And Bruce…Bruce closed his eyes. He had issues. He knew he had issues. Clark was probably still mad at him about those issues but…But he said this was a social call. Friendship. Maybe only a professional friendship, but Bruce would take it. He’d figure out how to make it enough. Because even if he knew it wouldn’t ever go anywhere else, when he thought about it, what Bruce really wanted the most was to see Clark smile again.

"Clark," Bruce said with honest sincerity. He opened his eyes. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

===

Clark smiled and nodded.  ”That would be lovely.  Thank you.”

===

Bruce felt his insides melt. Then he coughed and opened his laptop again. “We should do that interview anyways, get it out of the way. I asked Perry to send you specifically.”

 

===

"Did you?" Clark asked.   _Flattering_.  ”Well, that was efficient of you.”  Then, a playful expression crossing his face, he added, “Probably better me than Lois.”

===

Bruce slowly looked up, casting a very heated expression at Clark. “That woman is torture, Clark. Plain and simple.”

 

===

He nodded.  ”Yeah, she can be.  She’s a lot of work at the best of times.”  Then with a smile, he added, “But she’s a loyal friend underneath all of it., believe it or not.”

===

Bruce narrowed his eyes in skepticism. He was thinking, though, too. It was the kind of expression no one would ever want to see aimed at them with ill intent.

"Are you alright? Are there any lasting side effects?" he asked.

===

He shrugged.  ”I feel fine.  So far, any time the exposure has ended, I’ve recovered fairly quickly.  Though probably not as quickly as I’d have liked.  Can’t get anyone at STAR to tell me how long I was out this time… Dr. Hamilton says I’ll find out everything when he’s got his report ready but I think they’re just blowing smoke up my… well, you know.”

===

"Hm." Bruce didn’t like that, not at all. He was inside STAR Labs before Clark even finished talking. "Here," he said, turning the laptop. "Try to look surprised when they tell you in person."

===

He tried not to look  _too_  impressed.

"You’re a lifesaver," he said simply, leaning in a little closer.  "Six hours I was out," he said, reading from the screen.  "And they took some blood samples.  They could have said something."  He didn’t like that very much.

===

"Probably just curious about what makes you tick."  _I know I am_. The words died the moment he thought of them. That was just an awkward silence waiting to happen.

"But let’s get on with the interview," Bruce said. He went back to programming. "I’m curious to see how this works when the person asking the questions is aware of all the bullshit."

===

He leaned in just a smidgen closer and whispered conspiratorially, “I’ll tell you a little secret: I’m _always_  aware of the bullshit.”  With a smile he added, “it’s my job.”

===

Bruce stared at Clark. He couldn’t stop watching flicking his gaze between Clark’s eyes and Clark’s lips, and all the smug self-satisfaction in between. A smirk had taken over his own face, and he lowered his chin, leaning in a bit himself. “Hit me with your best shot,  _Mr. Kent_."

===

Clark licked his lips and looked Bruce in the eye.  It would be really easy to say something right now.  Maybe not something too forward… but he could  _imply_  something… something positively lascivious.

Part of him really wanted to.

But he couldn’t put Bruce on the spot like that.  Because while he may not entirely believe Bruce was straight (and it was especially hard to believe that right now), he wouldn’t be the person to push him.  That was no way to keep a friend… and he wanted Bruce to at least be that much.

Blushing at a sudden filthy thought that involved undressing Bruce at super speed, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and held his finger over the record button.

"And don’t worry," Clark said.  "No one will hear this but me, so you can speak… freely."

===

Oh, this was going to be fun.

The moment Clark started recording Bruce put on a wide grin. “Did I mention that I like the suit? Better than what you wore at the Foundation event.” Upon first glance, it looked like he was right back to being Brucie. But his eyes never lost their cunning. He was showing the mask  _and_  the person underneath, all at the same time. The real trick was to figure out which one was talking. It was his favorite kind of game.

===

Clark smoothed his collar.  ”Well, I try.  On occasion,” he replied.  He remembered Lois once saying she had sarcastically described Bruce as incorrigible… but she was right.  He  _was_ incorrigible in the best possible way.

"So, first, Mr. Wayne, I should say that we at the Planet are excited to be under new ownership," Clark began,  "So tell me, why the sudden interest in owning a newspaper?  And why not one of the reputable Gotham publications?"

===

"Well, you know what they say. I couldn’t leave Metropolis without buying something," Bruce said with a grin. "And why  _The Daily Planet_? Well first of all, the  _Gazette_  wouldn’t sell to us. Lovely bunch of Gothamites, incredibly loyal and incredibly traditional. But Wayne Enterprises is about looking to the future, and as much as we would have liked having the  _Gazette_ under our roof, we figured that they probably wouldn’t have liked living under our thumb.”

===

"Just so you know, the story will actually say that you were grinning as you said that," Clark replied with a smile.  

"And you say the Gazette wouldn’t have liked being under your thumb… does this mean you’re planning on being an involved owner?" he asked.  He was genuinely curious about this one.

===

"Of course! I’ve got a  _lot_  of ideas about where the  _Planet_  should go. News is perhaps the most important aspect of our lives these days and truly great writers deserve to have…” He was looking at Clark, listing off all the things Superman did, all the little ways that he made the world think he cared about them all. And he wasn’t even lying when he did it. “More. They deserve to have more.” Bruce calmed his expression and made a small, affectionate look. “That being said, I look forward to reading this interview later.”

===

Clark blushed just a little and gave him a little smile, not entirely sure what to say.  Because a lot of this, what they had said to one another so far, had been playful.  But that was honest.  He could tell… he knew people.

"Well, naturally I agree with that," he said, a little laugh escaping him.  "And I, for one, look forward to working with you."

 


	8. Chapter 8

All the cheerful glow of Bruce’s mask — or had it been Bruce himself? — washed away like rain on a window. “Good. Any other questions, Mr. Kent?” he asked, moving his attention back to his laptop. He didn’t type quite as fast as he could have, mostly because on the off chance that someone else  _did_  hear this, he didn’t want to give anything,  _anything_  away.

===

Clark nodded.   _Hm._

"Eh, I think I have enough to work with," he replied.  "And thank you for the interview."

===

The smile was forced. “My pleasure.”

Alfred knocked on the door. “Dinner is served, gentlemen.” Without waiting, he pushed his way in with a cart and began setting up trays before placing the food. Bruce looked annoyed when he was given a small plastic tablespoon cup with three pills inside along with his meal.

"Alfred, I don’t need—"

"Do encourage him to finish his meal," Alfred said to Clark. "Completely."

===

"I will," Clark said with a little nod.  "And thank you, Alfred.  This looks wonderful."

"My pleasure, Mr. Kent," Alfred said.  He threw another glance in Bruce’s direction, and Clark figured he was missing some silent communication between the two.  

"You’d better do as he says," Clark said, picking up his fork.  "Can’t imagine getting on his bad side."

===

"You don’t know the half of it." Bruce dug into the little cup and pulled out two of the pills. They were little round red things with "A92" printed in the top. "Throw these out the window for me, will you?"

===

"Oh no," Clark said.  "I remember that whole ‘it was Clark who burned me’ situation.  I’m not getting that stink eye again."  He smiled.  "You’ll feel better… just take ‘em."

===

"I’ll feel better when I can get out of this bed. It’s my ribs that are broken, not my legs." He dropped the pills off to the side and swallowed down the only one remaining. That was an anti-inflammatory, something much more useful than painkillers. The pain was what kept him awake, and he had a lot of new programming to do, thanks to Barbara.

Bruce realized he might have come across as ungrateful for Alfred’s concern just then. It was an unfounded concern, sure — Bruce had certainly come into the Batcave with much worse than broken ribs and a bruised neck — but that didn’t mean he was incapable of appreciating the thought.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I don’t do well with bed rest."

===

"I didn’t really expect you to," he said with a shrug and a little smile.  "It’s fine."  He took a little bite of the food before him and nodded appreciatively.  Alfred was an excellent cook.

"Alfred is great," he commented.  "Has he been with you long?"

===

"He was there when I was born," Bruce said conversationally. "My father was called in for a surgery halfway through labor. Alfred was asked to stand in for him. And to answer your follow-up question, yes, he is like a second father to me." He stabbed a small cut of chicken and put it in his mouth. He never really regained his sense of taste after his four years of overseas training. It was good, yes, but it was also just food to him. He was really glad Clark appreciated it.

===

"Wow," Clark said with a nod.  "That’s great.  You’re lucky to have him."  Then, with a smile, he said, "This might sound crazy, but he reminds me a bit of my mother."  Probably a big part of the reason he didn’t want to disappoint the man.

 

===

"I’m sure he’d take it as a compliment, if you told him. Being similar to the woman who raised Superman is nothing but."

Bruce thought of something. “Just so you know, Lois was more intimidating on our date than you were during the interview.”

===

"I’m not surprised," he said easily.  "Lois is more intimidating via text message than I am in most situations.  Than most people, actually."  

He took a chance and added, “Pity it didn’t work out for you two.”

===

Bruce glared at him. “Torture, Clark. It was torture. Neither of us wanted it to work out.” He frowned. “She hates me now, doesn’t she?”

===

Clark laughed.  ”She doesn’t hate you.  She doesn’t  _get_  you, but I don’t think it’s as bad as all that.”  He shook his head.  ”So… why did you keep hanging around her if you didn’t like her?  I mean, you sound like you hated every moment of it.”

===

Bruce shrugged slightly. “It’s part of my reputation. It’s what keeps people from looking too closely at Bruce Wayne. You’re a mild-mannered reporter, I’m a playboy billionaire. We each have our expectations.”

&&&

Alfred heard the doorbell ring just as he made it through the salad of his own dinner. “Now who could that be?” he mumbled to himself, standing from the kitchen table. Most of the people who usually made unexpected visits knew enough to stay out of the dinner hours, at least. 

He checked through the peep hole. “Miss Dae?” Alfred asked, opening the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

"Hi, Alf! I heard about the accident. Is Bruce around?" She flipped her long black hair over her shoulder.

Alfred paused. “He’s still at the lodge in Switzerland, Miss Dae. He won’t be able to fly home for at least a week.”

Miranda looked like she was ready to skin a dog. Then she shook her head once and her usual grin took over. “Of course. Sorry to have bothered you. Ciao, Alfred!”

"Yes. Good evening, Miss Dae."

Alfred blinked as he closed the door. That was…odd.

===

"Fair enough," Clark replied.  "You’ll be glad to know — or, at least I  _think_  you’ll be glad — that Lois didn’t hate all of the time you spent together.  Not everything she said about you was negative.”  

He was probably opening a can or worms because he couldn’t repeat most of what Lois had said, but he was rather curious to see how Bruce would react to some probing about his “relationship” with Lois.  Probably morbid curiosity, but there it was.  Bruce was interesting and Clark was enjoying trying to figure him out.

===

Furrowing his eyebrows, Bruce opened his mouth. He closed it again. “You’re not going to tell me what she said, are you?”

===

Clark grinned.  ”Are you scared I will or scared I won’t?”

===

Part of him wanted to know what went wrong with his persona and to file it away for improvement, and part of him wanted to know Clark’s reaction to Lois’ comments. 

"I’m…curious," he said. He tilted his head briefly. "Then again, I could just access your phone records and email, too."

===

He’d probably said that last bit to get a reaction, so Clark just shrugged.  ”Well,  _that_  wouldn’t do you much good.  We do most of our gossiping in person.”  He smiled.  ”She said that you were fun and you knew how to show a girl a good time.”  

He hesitated before adding, “She also said you seemed curious about me.  She didn’t get it and has jumped from one wild conclusion to another… but that’s probably only because there’s some key information she’s missing.”

===

"Hm. Key information that you are also missing," Bruce said. He leveled a stern look. "You need training. That fight was a disaster."

===

He raised an eyebrow.  ”Bit of a non sequitur, but okay.”  He nodded.  ”And you’re right… I was… ill-prepared.”  

He hadn’t needed Batman to point that out to him, either.

===

"Barbara’s starting hers at five-thirty tomorrow. Think you can make it?" He smiled. "Or should I talk to your boss?"

===

"I think that’s doable," he said with a nod.  "Although, please do call Perry and give him an order.  He  _loves_  that.”

 

===

There was a light knock on the door before Alfred opened it. “Master Bruce,” he started, then stopped. Alfred pursed his lips. “Miss Dae was just by. She seemed to be under the impression you were back in town, even so early after your accident. And shall I take your plates?”

Bruce glanced down, saw that he had managed to eat half of what was on there, actually. He hadn’t even noticed. Then he realized what Alfred said. “What did she say, exactly?”

"She just expressed her concern to see you. But she looked rather  _funny_  when I said you weren’t actually here.” Alfred picked up Bruce’s plate and moved his drink to the night stand, along with the pills.

===

"The Miss Dae I met at the Foundation dinner?" Clark asked.  "Are you… dating her?"  He wasn’t asking for his own curiosity, he told himself.  "Were you dating her while you were dating Lois?"  And he felt an involuntary surge of protectiveness because sure, Lois had been working an angle with Bruce, but he hadn’t known that.  Or had he?

===

Bruce closed his eyes and took in a deep, slow breath. He let it out. “I told you, I have an image. Now, how did she look ‘funny?’”

Alfred glanced between them and blinked. “Erm, quite upset, I should say.”

===

Clark rolled his eyes.  That sounded a bit patronizing.  Bruce didn’t need to talk down to him just because he felt the need to show the whole world how much he loved women.

Clark said nothing.

===

"I’ll review the footage. Thank you for informing me, Alfred." He waited until the tray was taken before returning his laptop to work.

"May I take your plate, sir?" Alfred asked Clark.

===

"Oh, right," Clark said, a bit distractedly.  "Yes, thank you.  The meal was delicious."

===

"Well, it’s good to see  _someone_  is eating my cooking.” Alfred went about clearing the room.

Bruce was acutely aware of Clark’s shift in mood. Part of it was the fact that Clark radiated whatever he was feeling, and part of it was his own hyper awareness. Neither of them helped him understand just what, exactly, had happened.

He closed his eyes and sank into the pillows behind him. “I’m actually a bit tired, if you can believe it. Thank you for the company, Clark. And the gifts.”

===

"No problem," Clark said, nodding.  "I enjoyed our conversation."  Forcing a smile he added, "Get some rest.  I’ll see you.  And bye, Alfred.  I can show myself out."

He moved for the door and hesitated for just a moment in the doorway.  It had been a good visit, and they were probably going to be able to get along for the most part now.  So he had no intention on sulking out of that room.  He turned back and gave a smile half as bright but twice as genuine as the one he had flashed a moment before and waved once, just once, before leaving.

But really, he was kind of glad to be leaving.  He had to be honest with himself now.  He felt guilty but… God help him, he was jealous.  And it was an ugly feeling.

===

Bruce was watching the door, imagining that Clark was still there, when he looked away and saw Alfred glaring at him.

"What?" Bruce asked.

Alfred huffed and hauled the dishes away.

Bruce frowned. Instead of going to the video of Miranda, he decided to review their conversation. He could do this, he had told himself, not too long ago. He could figure this out.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Clark showed up at the Cave at five-thirty on the dot the next day.  He had almost forgotten that Bruce had never given him a code to get in or told him the entrance he should use.  He was still a guess.

 _Barbara Gordon_  had been around all of five minutes and she could let herself in.

He sighed.  He had told himself all day that he was going to check any stirrings of jealous feelings, and here they were already cropping up… and they weren’t even in the same room yet.  This was going to be a long day.

===

Alfred was the one who noticed Clark’s presence and let him in. “Good evening, Mister Kent. Any preference for dinner tonight?” He lead the way inwards.

"Okay, so, I get the idea," Barbara was saying, her voice carrying through the Cave. She was dressed head to toe in a new Kevlar outfit, much more refined than anything she put together. "But do I really have to— woah!" She bent backwards to dodge a kick and turned her movement into a backflip.

"Yes," Bruce replied, clearly irritated with her. "There aren’t any changing rooms in the field."

"But it’s so freaking—"

Bruce caught both of her fists ad squeezed.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," Barbara started repeating.

"The suit stays on," Bruce growled out. He let go of her and watched her quickly slink back, shaking each hand. She wasn’t actually hurt, but pain didn’t need something broken to be felt.

"Oh thank God you’re here, he can beat up on you now," Barbara said as she caught sight of Superman. She looked back at Bruce. "How many ribs did you say you broke? None? It feels like none."

Bruce scowled. He went over to a short stack of towels accompanied by a small bowl of water. Unlike Barbara, he had kept his uniform off, though he wore a plastic brace around his torso, under his shirt.

===

"I’m sure whatever you serve will be fine," Clark said with a grateful smile to Alfred.  He followed him over in time to see Barbara ducking a kick.

When she turned and addressed him, he couldn’t help smiling.  Bruce’s tenacity was already getting on her nerves, and he imagined it would only get worse.  It shouldn’t have been kind of funny, but it was.  Though watching them move, he had to admit, he wouldn’t mind going a few rounds.  ”Hi, Barbara… nice outfit,” he said.

She huffed but smiled.  ”Real funny coming from a guy who’s yet to master underwear on the inside.”

"Touché," he replied with a smile.  Then he gave a nod in Bruce’s direction because he realized Bruce probably wouldn’t acknowledge him until he was coming towards him swinging.  "Hey,  you’re looking better today."

===

Bruce made a sound of acknowledgement. He dropped the towel back on its pile and stepped back onto the training ring. “Barbara, get off the mats, do your stretches. Superman, you’re up.”

===

"Okay," Clark said.  "Let’s go."

===

Bruce didn’t hesitate, not from the moment Clark stepped on the mats. He moved fast, but he didn’t strike hard. His attacks were designed to distract and misdirect, to upset balance and most of all, to conserve energy.

===

Dodging Bruce’s hits was pretty easy, but mostly because Clark was so fast.  He blocked and ducked without style but with a certain degree of natural grace.

This was Bruce injured, and he was still damned impressive.

Clark wouldn’t have been able to stand toe to toe with him were it not for his powers.  

Damned impressive.

===

Bruce had to stop at one point. “Wait,” he said, holding a hand up for  _stop_. His other hand was braced against his side, and he was breathing heavily, eyes crunched shut. He looked like he was trying hard not to succumb, but the pain got the better of him. He doubled over, bracing his arms against his knees and hissing through his teeth.

===

He exhaled and put his head back.  He should have known that would happen.  Bruce was pushing himself too hard… and since he had known him, he’d seen him push himself too hard at every opportunity.

He stepped closer and sighed.  ”Hey, are you… are you okay?”

===

He smirked.

Bruce flicked out with his foot, yanked Clark’s balance out from under him, then slammed his weight into Clark’s chest and pinned him right to the mat. The whole move took all of one second to complete.

"Boy Scout," Bruce said.

===

Okay.  That was pretty good.

"You’re kind of an ass, you know that?" Clark asked with a smile as he flipped Bruce onto his back on the mat and held him down with one hand in the center of his chest.

===

He could kiss Clark. The image burst into his mind like the intruder than it was, a sudden tangent triggered by…

Bruce was suddenly aware of every millimeter of Clark’s hand on his chest, and every pound of force he exerted. “Off,” he said, pushing it — and Clark — all away. “That was a good warm-up. We’ll start with basic blocks.”

Barbara sighed heavily. “Do I have to?”

“ _You’re_  the one who’s going to be teaching him.”

"What?!"

"Teaching in the best method of learning," Bruce said sternly. "If you know it so well, teach him."

===

"Wait, she’s training me now?" he asked.  "I mean, no offense, but…"  His voice trailed off because there was nothing to be said.  Barbara was looking at him with one eyebrow raised.

And he quickly looked down at his hand, and felt like he had done something wrong.  He remembered the odd look on Bruce’s face as he pushed him away and… well. it was odd.  He knew he hadn’t hurt him because his heart rate didn’t spike and his breathing pattern didn’t change.

But Bruce’s heart was going a tad faster  _now_.

"Okay," he said hastily.  "Let’s get on with it."

===

Barbara tried. Really, she did. But after five minutes of fumbled attempts at explaining what she knew, she turned to Bruce and said, “I have no idea how to teach.”

Bruce nodded his head. That had really been his goal, anyways. He needed her to admit it to herself seemingly unprovoked. “Good. Now pay attention, and do what I do,” he said to both of them.

They had barely been going for fifteen minutes when Alfred showed up with dinner. There was a shrimp dish for Bruce and Clark, and a takeout pizza for Barbara.

"Yes! Thank you, Alfred!" Barbara exclaimed, seizing the box. She dropped down cross-legged right on the edge of the mats and brought a slice up to her mouth. 

Bruce took his meal to a workbench where he was assembling a new utility belt.

===

Clark took his plate and wandered up near Bruce casually.  He watched him quietly for a moment before asking, “So, what did I do wrong?  I know you must be dying to tell me… here’s your opening.”

===

At first Bruce hesitated. He had thought that Clark meant something entirely different, but as he replayed the dialogue in his head he realized what was actually being asked.

"You were fine," Bruce began. "Your reaction times are great, but you need to tighten your aim. That can only come with practice." He furrowed his eyebrows. "But the Boy Scout attitude will get you killed."

===

"Well, not everyone I come across in the field is going to have several broken ribs sustained while helping me not die," Clark replied, eyebrow raised.  Because, sure.  It was easy for Bruce to say that… but it wasn’t in Clark’s nature to just… whatever.  They were different.  That much he had always known.

He looked at Bruce curiously and thought for a moment about the way he had paused.  He was holding back.

===

"Hmph." Bruce ate some of his dinner to keep from having to talk, and he kept his eyes on the spring-loaded pouch he was putting together. The pieces weren’t small, but they did require focus and deft movements. 

Barbara came over and laid her knuckles on the table. “So, what next?”

"Keep practicing," Bruce said. "Spar each other. Focus on using your blocks."

===

The way that Bruce looked at him sometimes, just every once in a while, it almost made Clark feel like he resented him.  But why? 

He blocked a punch, grabbing Barbara’s fist and using it to hurl her to the ground.  She let out a sound like a deflated balloon but still sprung back to her feet.  She was strong and determined… she was going to be great at this.

He glanced back over to Bruce and had to wonder again.  It couldn’t be Superman stuff that he resented.  Anything he could do as Superman, Batman had the training and technology to do in his own way.  And he knew better than to think he resented his presence in general.  The fact that he didn’t have access to the Cave without having someone let him in aside, he knew that if Bruce didn’t want him around, he wouldn’t be.

It felt like Bruce was projecting something unrelated onto Clark and taking it out on him.  Though there was no way of knowing for sure that it wasn’t just Clark’s feelings making him imagine things or overreact.  

He decided he should watch Bruce a little more closely.  Next time that look crossed his face, Clark didn’t want to have to wonder what it meant.

===

"Call it a night," Bruce said after an hour. He had finished two of the pouches. They weren’t simple bags, they had complex wiring that needed tiny tools and a magnifying glass to work with properly.

"Uhg," Barbara moaned, falling flat on her back. "I am so tired, I am not going out tonight."

"Good. Alfred can give you a ride home."

Barbara stared at the ceiling. “You did this on purpose.”

===

"He does  _everything_  he does on purpose,” Clark said with a little smile, offering her a hand and pulling her up to her feet.

And maybe he was guilty that time of trying to provoke a reaction… but only because he was curious what the reaction would be.

===

Bruce snorted lightly. A quiet smirk crept across his face. It was…charming, for Clark to notice. “Everything has a purpose,” he said. “It’s not worth doing otherwise.”

Barbara rolled her eyes, mumbling something so quietly there weren’t even coherent words left to hear. “Well, okay. What do I do with the outfit?” she asked audibly.

"Leave it here tonight. Find a safe place for it before you take it home."

"Okay, so can I—"

"This way, Miss Gordon."

Barbara shrieked. “Jesus, Alfred!”

===

Sometimes when Bruce smiled or smirked or moved his hands a certain way, it was for the benefit of the people who were watching him.  And sometimes he did things like that, that little smirk just then, that he couldn’t seem to help.

Sometimes Clark could even tell the difference.

He had smiled and was getting ready to say that he agreed with Bruce when Barbara mumbled, “Could you two be any more obvious?” under her breath, really quietly and quickly.

He barely caught it, so he couldn’t imagine Bruce did.  He’d have reacted to  _that_  if he had.

He laughed at Alfred scaring Barbara and waited quietly until they were both gone.  ”So,” he finally began.  ”Alfred isn’t letting you go on patrol while you’re all banged up, is he?”

===

"My injuries are keeping me from going out on patrol." Bruce pulled his shirt up and un-clipped the brace. As he pulled it away he exposed stitches from the surgery to stop the internal bleeding, and the whole area was covered with one large bruise. It took up nearly half his side, and it was an ugly, deep purple-red, with a few spots of puke green near the edges. "Soak a towel in water and heat it up for me, will you?" he asked.

===

That looked bad, but Bruce would probably tell him he’d had worse.  Or ha-rumph him, that way he had of doing that.

He grabbed a towel and soaked it, then let a gentle wave of his heat vision hit it.  He felt it to make sure it wasn’t too hot before he offered it to Bruce.

"Here you go."

===

Bruce sighed as he laid it across the bruised flesh. The burned part felt more uncomfortable, but he’d rather that than a blood clot. “Thanks.” He put the brace over the towel, holding it in place.

"You should get going," he continued. "There are probably people out there who could use your help. Same time tomorrow."

===

He wondered if that was a polite way of saying that he had worn out his welcome, or if it was a not-so polite way of saying that Bruce would like a little space.  Probably the latter, but it hardly mattered either way.  The result was the same.  Clark licked his lips and gave a heavy nod.  ”Right.”  

 _Maybe there are people_ here _who need my —_

_It’s not as if I could’t hear them —_

_I’ve got time to —_

He sighed.  ”Take it  _easy_ ,” he settled on.  He raised his eyebrows when he said the word “easy” as if to show that he really meant it, but he wasn’t sure if Bruce noticed or understood. 

===

Quirking an eyebrow, Bruce gestured to his table full of nanotechnology. “This  _is_  me taking it easy. Take care, Clark.”

===

Clark smiled and shook his head.  ”Yeah, I guess so.  See you tomorrow.”  He gave him a two-fingered Boy Scout salute, like he had done once before, and left.

===

Bruce worked late into the night. By the time 3 am rolled around most of the belt had been completed, and the rest, he decided, could wait until morning.

He made it all of two hours before he was awake again. The first night had been fine. The first night, he couldn’t remember a thing. But now that there was a distance between now and the battle in Metropolis, his mind had decided now was a good time to bring up the nightmares. 

Bruce stared at the ceiling. Every time he tried rolling to his side he felt anxious. He couldn’t see behind him. If he had super hearing or impervious skin, he thought. Then he wondered if Clark ever had nightmares.

Well. He was awake now. He was supposedly still in Switzerland, so that was good. No parties, no business. No Miranda. It was just him and his work, and some company every evening.

He could get used to this.

===

That night, Clark went to stop what sounded like an aggravated assault but turned out to be a domestic violence case.  Those, and abused children, were his least favorites.

After that, he went to Lois’s apartment and they watched  _Pushing Daisies_  and made comments about the Pie Makers eyebrows

And then he went home and he climbed into his bed.  And then he thought about the smirk on Bruce’s face when he had flipped him and called him a Boy Scout, and the way Bruce’s chest felt under his hand.  He smiled to himself and laughed, and even though he was alone, he blushed just a little.

He rolled over onto his stomach and put his pillow over his head because that was just too silly.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

The next night, Bruce started off by showing Barbara her new utility belt.

"The belt clips here. You need your finger print to activate the locks and un-clip it."

"What about if I’m wearing my glove?"

"That’s fine, there’s a pad in the thumb that will read the finger print of the wearer and send the appropriate signal." He latched the two ends together and held it out for her. "Try it. Put it on, get used to how it feels."

Barbara laid her thumb over the spot Bruce had pointed out and watched it pop open. Then she strung it around her waist and snapped it back together. “Heavy,” she said.

"It’s empty," Bruce replied. He walked over to the armory. "Now we go over equipment."

===

After a pretty quiet day, Clark flew off to the Batcave.  He felt pretty good because this was his first flight in his new suit and cape.  The old he had been wearing had gotten ripped beyond repair during the fight with Luthor’s battle suit, so he had been wearing an old suit — one made with a thicker, scratchier fabric in a shade of blue that was just a tad darker than he usually wore.  That suit was the one he wore when he first showed up in Metropolis… before his mother had made the more comfortable one that he’d just lost

But he’d gone to Smallville right after work and found that his mother had put the finishing touches on another suit, just like the one that had just been ruined, but with a little more stretch.

Yes, he felt pretty good as he flew off to the Cave.

===

Barbara was still coughing up her lungs when Bruce noticed the cliff side sensors were going off. “You’ll need to work on holding your breath,” he said, flipping the switch to open the door.

===

When the door opened for him, Clark went into the Cave and found Bruce and Barbara already working.  

"Hey, you two," he said with a smile.

===

"Hey," Barbara rasped. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. "You can fight him first." She broke into another, albeit less intense, fit of coughs.

"Smoke pellets," Bruce explained. He wore his favorite sweat pants and shirt, and his hair wasn’t as tightly kept as usual. It felt good not to have to dress up. "And you’re going to keep sparring each other. But Barbara, I want you to use your equipment."

"Gimme five. And some wa— hi, Alfred." She took the water. "Did you teach him or did he teach you?"

===

Bruce looked  _really_  good.  

"So," Clark began, eyeing Bruce casually.  "Am I sparring her because you’re not feeling up to it?"  Then, with a grin, he added, "Because you can say if that’s it."

===

Bruce’s eyebrows fell together competitively. “In your dreams, Kent,” he said around a smirk. “The two of you are the ones who need this training, not me. I also have work.” He bounced the manila folder in his hands once. It contained gang activity Jim wanted Batman to see if he could make sense of, and lab reports from a toxin found circulating one of the gang member’s bloodstream. It was largely an unknown substance.

"Okay, well, you heard the guy," Barbara said, hopping onto the mats. She swung her arms a bit and pulled on her legs, loosening her muscles. "Ready when you are."

===

He smiled to himself and turned to face Barbara.  ”All right,” he began.  ”Let’s go.”

He got into ready position on the mat and waited for Barbara to come at him.  She aimed a punch at him and he blocked it.  She kicked at his chest and he easily ducked it.

"Stop doing that," she complained.

"What?" Clark asked innocently.  "What am I doing?"

She wrinkled her nose.  ”You’re being… fast.  It’s frustrating!”  She looked at Bruce.  ”When am I ever going to face a thug with super speed?  I mean, this is fun and all, but what’s the point?”

===

"Three days ago, I had to take down a battlesuit that had nearly killed  _Superman_. The world is changing. We are no longer fighting thugs or mafia families, and the ones we are fighting are getting access to better weapons, better tech, and smarter leaders.” He turned his head around and gave Barbara a very severe expression. “If you can’t handle—”  _one metahuman with a glaringly obvious weakness_ "—that, then I suggest you turn in your uniform."

Barbara stared at him even after he went back to work. “Yeah but,” she started, stopped when Bruce didn’t even twitch. “…Even you had to work your way up to that.” She waited for a response. Bruce either didn’t have one or he wasn’t going to give one, but just when she was about to give up on the hope altogether he spoke up.

"Clark. How well can you control yourself."

===

"Pretty well," Clark replied.  "Really well, actually.  That’s been the bulk of my training."   _For the bulk of my life_.

===

Bruce had to consider that. He frowned at the paperwork in front of him. “Miss Gordon, continue practicing with the batarangs. Clark?” He stood from his chair and moved into an equipment room cut into the rock, brushing past a few rows of steel shelves to find what he needed. The  _follow me_  was left unsaid.

===

 _Okay_.  His eyes followed Bruce for a second before his body did.  He wondered at that shift in conversation, but he saw that look in Bruce’s eyes.  The one he was starting to recognize… the one that meant that Bruce had made some connection and perhaps the pieces of the puzzle were going to line up nicely.

He came up behind Bruce and stood, perhaps, a little too close.  He stepped back once before asking, “So…?”

===

It was hard not to be aware of who was in a room. With Clark, it was like trying to ignore the sun.

"Take this," he said, offering a little rubber-like black tube with wires running out of it. The wires were connected to a device twice that barely fit in Bruce’s hands. He kept the screen away from Clark. "Squeeze it enough to generate five pounds of pressure."

===

Clark raised an eyebrow.  ”Okay,” he said tentatively.  

Bruce was testing him.

He squeezed the little tube gently, or gently for him.  It felt like five pounds of pressure, just like Bruce had ordered.

===

Bruce’s eyebrows stitched themselves low. It was exact. “Twenty-five,” he said, perhaps a bit quickly. His mouth hung open just the smallest bit before he closed his lips back in their frown.

===

 _Twenty-five?_   ”What?” Clark asked, all shock.  ”Are you  _sure_?”   _Twenty-five._

The way Bruce looked at him for a split second was threatening to rip a hole in him.

 _Twenty-five._   Five times what he thought he had done.

===

"Yes, twenty-five. You did five, now do twenty-five," he replied.

===

He wrinkled his nose.  He concentrated very hard and tried to be very careful and exact as he squeezed again, undershooting and trying for fifteen, just to give himself a little window.

===

Bruce hummed a short note. “You are now reading fifteen pounds.” He looked up at Clark. “You did hear the part where I said you hit five pounds exactly, but I am now asking for twenty-five, correct?”  _Because I don’t believe you’re this incapable_. 

===

Clark sighed in frustration.  ”I thought you meant… the way you looked at me…”  He couldn’t explain.  He couldn’t explain that he had been afraid he’d done too much…

He couldn’t let Bruce see that much self-doubt.  

"Forget it," he said instead.  "I’ll just… try that again."  Concentrating again, this time determined not to falter for another second, he squeezed and did what felt like  _exactly_  twenty-five.

He never used to doubt himself like that.

===

Bruce caught the expression on Clark’s face, the current of emotions in his tone. He thought about saying something. But then the reader clicked to exactly twenty-five, and he let it go. Two-for-two.

He recalled videos he had seen of Superman catching falling people without so much as bruising them.

"Six-point-five pounds," Bruce said. As in, do that next. "How do you train yourself?"

===

"It’s not so much something I do to train as it is about concentrating," he said.  He squeezed what felt like six and a half to him.  "I tested myself a lot when I was younger, mostly because I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t going to accidentally hurt someone if I tried to hug them or pat them on the back.  I practiced using, but controlling, my strength on anything I could get my hands on… I just really didn’t want to feel…" Like a freak, outcast… alien.  He hesitated, looking for the right words… the ones that wouldn’t shut Bruce down.  If such words even existed… 

"I didn’t want to feel odd," he settled on. 

===

An affectionately forlorn look shadowed Bruce’s face. He knew that hesitation. He could practically see Clark’s mind wiping the words away as soon as they were thought of. He had done it a thousand times himself, after all.

"Like a freak, an abomination, or an outsider," Bruce supplied. Standing here next to Clark, he couldn’t see how anyone would want to use those words against him. But Bruce knew how cruel children could be, and as he asked for the next target — "Eighty-seven-point-three-nine" — he thought about what kind of childhood Clark must have had. He  _was_  an alien, there was no denying that. But it wasn’t like Clark, or anyone, could choose what they were born as.

===

He probably looked like a deer in headlights.  ”Yeah,” he said after a moment, afraid now to watch Bruce’s face.  He nodded, and he felt a little bit of a blush on his cheeks.  ”Exactly.”  Clark was always very careful with what he said when it came to the negative aspect of having his powers, because he didn’t want to seem ungrateful.  But… clearly Bruce understood.  Not  _everyone_  would be able to understand…. but he did. 

To keep himself from saying more, saying something wrong or too forward or too affectionate, Clark concentrated.  He kept his head full of facts and numbers and a few basic calculations.  Eighty-seven point three nine.

===

The reader bounced between 87.37 and 87.39 before finally settling on the latter. “Impressive,” he said. Bruce reached out with his hand and — and he didn’t mean to, not at first, but by the time it was happening he didn’t want to stop. He slipped his fingers in between Clark’s fingers and removed the rubber piece from his grip, returning both it and the reader to its spot on the shelf. It was as close as Bruce was going to get with offering comfort, he realized.

"Do you have the same level of control over your speed?"

===

He realized that he was a grown man, not inexperienced and pretty familiar with the ways of the world, but he felt a little rush at the feeling of Bruce’s fingers brushing across his palm, however briefly.

That was somehow more intimate than anything that had happened before.

He brought himself back to the moment, to the question at hand.  ”I’ve never really clocked myself or anything,” Clark said, shrugging.  ”So I couldn’t say how well  _exactly_  I can control my speed, but I can manage it well enough, I think.”

===

"Hm." It stood to reason that if Clark could control his power this well, then he controlled his speed just the same. Clark probably didn’t even realize that the two were inherently tied together. Speed contributed to strength just as surely as raw force did. "Try to take it easy on Barbara. Stay just above her level. Not far enough to be discouraging, but enough to make her work harder to keep up with you. Because the world is changing…"  _and I fear for her safety in the role that she has chosen_. He wasn’t a superstitious person, but he didn’t want to say what didn’t need to be said.

Bruce had to leave the room. It was a too small, they were too close together. He needed his space again. But one last moment, one last faint brush of shoulder on shoulder as Bruce walked by, he granted himself.

"Where’s Barbara?" he asked Alfred, making a beeline for the computer. He brought up the GPS in the suit.

"A sort of emergency cropped up in the packaging district," Alfred replied. "She decided not to ‘sit around and twiddle her thumbs,’ as she put it. Here." He offered a very heated towel.

God, yes, Bruce needed that. He tucked it next to his bruises and reveled in the relief that came with it.

===

Clark felt a little smile, just at the corners of his mouth because that brush past him… Bruce had done that on purpose.  He could tell.

He followed him out of the room in time to hear what Alfred was saying.

"I could go see if she needs a hand," Clark offered.

===

"Stay out of sight," Bruce said. "This is Batman’s territory. I do have a reputation, you know." He looked over his shoulder, then thought of something and reached into a drawer. He pulled out a new communicator. "Take this."

===

Clark threw up his hands in defeat, but not annoyance.  He expected as much and only offered because… well, he couldn’t  _not_  offer.

He came closer and took the communicator.  ”Thanks.”

===

"It’s got a—  _hidden feature_  added to it. Press the blue dot on your way out.” The utility belt wasn’t the only extent of his ability with nanotech, and with Superman’s DNA now on file — however the data had been “corrupted” in STAR Labs’ machines — it had been easy enough to program.

Bruce felt apprehension rise in his throat when he thought about what he just handed over. The communicator now served as a remote control for the cliff door, and would open the way whenever Clark put his finger to the dot. It was unfettered access to the Batcave. It meant…it meant Clark would take this as a sign of friendship, and maybe it was. Bruce wasn’t averse to the idea. But it also meant that he would have more of an opportunity to study the world’s most powerful man when he  _wasn’t_  being the world’s most powerful man.

Bruce shifted the towel and glanced at the screen. His satellite had found Barbara and was displaying her movement through the district. “Oh, and whatever you do, don’t let her know you’re there,” he added, then looked away completely as a sign of dismissal. 

===

"Wouldn’t dream of it," he said with a smile.  

That was… unexpected.  But in a good way.

He took off to find Barbara and would keep his promise to stay out of sight… unless he had absolutely no other choice.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Barbara crouched on the next rooftop over, peering over the short wall around the edge of the building. Just across the street, Gotham’s SWAT team was going into action.

Minutes passed. Barbara felt like she had come for nothing. And then, slipping away from it all unseen, was a kid.

That kid looked far too panicked to be thankful the cops were there.

"Hi there," Barbara grinned, leaning against a wall. The kid — a scruffy little girl, could probably pass as a boy if she wanted (which it looked like she did) — nearly ran into her.

&&&

Bruce was listening to police chatter and the audio coming in from Barbara’s cowl. “Tell me she’s not,” he said to Clark, a small string of hope dangling in the middle.

===

Clark watched from above, and a safe distance back where hopefully neither Batgirl nor the police would see him.  

He shook his head.  ”Afraid so,” he replied. And he had to admit that he was glad to be keeping his distance… because he was genuinely curious to see how this would go.

&&&

"Stay back, bitch" the girl growled, throwing up her little fists.  "And who are you supposed to be, anyways?"

"Well, that depends on you," Barbara said.  "You can either cooperate with me, and I’ll be your friend.  Or you can try to fight me…"

The girl backed up a step and lifted her fists higher, almost right in front of her face.  ”And I could kick your bony ass.”

"Trust me, kid," Barbara began.  "You don’t want to open that can of worms."

&&&

Above, Clark rolled his eyes.  That must have been what  _he_  sounded like to Bruce.

===

"Don’t call me  _kid,_ " she sneered, backing up. Her blonde hair was getting tangled in the wind.

"Then what do I call you?" Barbara asked. "Let’s start with that, hm? Then we can move on to why you were running from the police."

"Puh. I ain’t tellin’ you  _nuthin_.” Before Barbara could make a snappy comeback, she turned around and bolted.

Barbara sighed. She unhooked a bola from her belt and flung it like she read about once, nabbing the kid around the ankles and sending her chin straight into the ground. “Guilty people don’t run,” Barbara called over the short distance.

"Suck a dick!" the kid yelled back.

&&&

Bruce made a disapproving sound at the bottom of his throat. “I hate kids.”

===

Clark winced at the little girl’s abrasiveness, but really, it was to be expected.  ”Not only would I have gotten my mouth washed with soap for saying something like that as a kid, but I probably still would,” he replied, shaking his head.

&&&

"Now, I’d advise you to start talking," Barbara said, cheese eating grin in place, mostly because it was annoying the kid… and Barbara felt like she owed her a little annoyance.

The kid tried to squirm, but there was little use.  ”Lemme go, bitch!”

Standing beside the kid and looking down at her, Barbara tsked and put her foot in the middle of the girl’s back.  ”Call me that one more time and you’re going to learn the hard way why you shouldn’t use that word.”

===

Bruce scowled and flipped on the communicator with Barbara’s cowl. “That—” Barbara gasped when she heard his voice suddenly “—kind of attitude will get you no where.”

"Well then what do you suggest?" she hissed back.

Bruce considered the police chatter, then turned that communicator off. “Let me guess: runt of the street, hair cut short, looks like she’s got three blocks of dirt on her face,” he said to Clark. There were no available cameras for him to tap feeds from.

===

"Yep, exactly" Clark replied.  "She looks like something out of Dickens."

===

"Hmph." He switched back to Barbara. "Listen, intimidation’s not going to work. She’s used to it, she knows how to deflect it. Being nice won’t work, either, she’ll see it as a ruse."

"Okay, fine, what does that leave me?"

"You need to be  _in charge_ ,” Bruce stressed. “A lack of confidence is displayed through bravado, and kids like that are drawn to people with confidence. Be stern, but be fair. When she tries to flip the tables on you, be honest. And call out all of her lies if you can.”

Barbara huffed. “Right, so Superman minus the Boy Scout cheeriness.”

"Who’re you talkin’ to?" Bruce heard the kid inquire.

"Batman," Barbara snapped. "He’s in a bad mood tonight so he sent me instead. Now are you gonna tell me your name or what?

===

"I don’t hafta tell you nuthin’," the girl insisted.  But her voice wasn’t quite as gruff as it had been.  "You really know…  _him_?”

Barbara smirked.  ”Sure.  I work with him.”  

The girl tried not to look as impressed as she sounded when she said, “Wow.”  She recovered after a minute and added, “But so what?  I don’t give any more of a shit about him than I do about you.”

"Of course not," Barbara said easily.  She pulled the girl into a standing position, but she held onto her.  The girl was still bound and wouldn’t have been able to get away anyways, but she wasn’t taking the chance.  "Now, enough.  You’re going to tell me your name."

The girl spit at Barbara.  ”That’s my name.”

"Look, kid," Barbara began, gripping the girl just a bit tighter.  "If you level with me, maybe I can help you.  I’m not making any promises, but you’ll do better with me than the cops.  Just drop the tough act, huh?"

"Ain’t an act," the girl said, scowling.  "I take care of myself and I been doin’ it for years."  Then she sighed and rolled her eyes.  "And I said to knock it off and stop calling me kid.  Name’s Bridget, okay?"

Barbara nodded.  ”Okay, Bridget.  That’s a start.”

&&&

Clark continued to watch silently from above and wondered that Barbara hadn’t caught on that he was there.  But he had no intention of ruining things for her by interfering.

===

Bridget wiggled her grip out of Barbara’s hands and tried working on the bola strings.

"So, Bridget, you wanna tell me why you’re runnin’ from the cops?"

“‘Cause they busted Mr. Diego,” Bridget replied. The bola strings weren’t budging very much.

"And who’s Mr. Diego?"

"Some guy. Said he’d give us a home." She gave up and slumped to the ground, arms hugging her legs. "Just turned out he was runnin’ drugs."

Barbara squatted down next to her. “Oh yeah? Were you in on his little scheme?”

"Hell no!" Bridget glowered. "Momma said that shit’ll mess you up! I just pretended so I could get a place to sleep at night. It’s gettin’ cold in Gotham, y’know?"

"Mm." Barbara put her hand on her jaw. "And your mom is…?"

Bridget scoffed. “Six feet under, offa Larpentuer.”

&&&

Bruce frowned. “How do you deal with kids like this?” he found himself asking.

===

Clark shook his head sadly.  ”It isn’t easy.  I just try to talk them, make them feel comfortable… see if I can’t get them to listen.”  He hesitated.  ”And on  _those_  occasions when that doesn’t work, I offer to fly them around.”

&&&

"Oh, I’m sorry to hear that," Barbara replied.

Bridget shrugged.  ”Ev’rybody has to deal with shit.  It’s not like you can do anything about it now.”

===

Scowling, Bruce thought he was quite possibly the only person who didn’t like flying.

&&&

"Alright, tell ya what," Barbara began, shifting her feet, "I get you outta the bola, and you come back with me to the police guys."

"No way! They’ll stick me back in child services!" Bridget yelled, leaning forward.

Barbara looked confused. “What’s so wrong about child services?”

"Dude, last time they put me in that shit, I got stuck at this old lady’s place who kept callin’ me Karen and got mad when I wasn’t home by nine."

"Okay the Karen I’ll give you but—"

"Let her go," Bruce said.

"What? Why? She’s got no where—"

"She’s resourceful, she’s smart, and she doesn’t want to be saved. Let her go."

"Br—" Barbara stopped. "B," she growled, "I am not leaving Other B out here by herself."

"Then what are you going to do about it? Take her home with you? Hunt down the perfect foster home yourself? Where will she be until you find one? What about the other estimated 4,000 homeless children in this city?"

The line remained silent.

"This is the reality if our job, Batgirl," Bruce continued. "Let her go."

===

Barbara wrinkled her nose and sighed.  ”Fine.  Listen, I’m gonna let you go, but you need to at least try to stay out of trouble.  If the cops catch you, you’re goin’ right back into the system.”

Bridget smirked.  ”For real?  You’re really gonna —”

"Yeah," Barbara said.  "Now go on before I change my mind.  And remember,  _try_  to stay out of trouble!”

&&&

"You told her to let the kid go?" Clark asked over the comm.  "What do you think will happen to her?"

===

He had expected a speech. He had expected a long list of reasons why telling Barbara to let the kid go was a bad idea, how it made him a horrible person, how he only cared about beating up the bad guys. Even as he gave his reply, he still expected that speech.

"She’ll survive," Bruce said. "And eventually, she’ll ask for help."

 _When will you ask for help_? a voice mocked himself. He thought of Harvey in Arkham.

 _I don’t need it_.

===

Clark nodded.  ”I guess.  I hope for her sake it’s soon.”

===

"Come back to the ‘Cave before she does," Bruce said. "Unless you plan on calling it a night."

===

Clark cleared his throat.  ”Well, I’m not doing anything else right now…”

He turned around and was at the ‘Cave pretty quickly and pressed the button to let himself in for the first time.

"Hey," he said casually.

===

Bruce was printing papers off and adding them to an empty folder. He gazed in Clark’s direction as an acknowledgment of presence, then it was back to finishing up the case file. “How’s Luthor been recently?” he asked.

===

"Pretty quiet," Clark replied.  He wrinkled his nose and thought about Luthor and wondered how long it would be before he put his next Plan to Kill Superman into action.  "He always lays low for a while after something like this comes out.  Makes his big public announcement of how he had no knowledge whatsoever of these heinous plans and then he’s quiet for a while."

===

"We’ll catch him," he said.

Bruce thought about the book sitting in Luthor’s desk. Once more he thought about just delivering it to the MPD, but other than the fact that it was in Luthor’s handwriting — which any artist could forge — there was no evidence to say Luthor himself wrote it. All security cameras had been temporarily disabled each time he cracked it open. There might be a way for Bruce Wayne to expose the book, but then he had to weigh the cost of weapons contracts with LexCorp over the benefits of the man being behind bars.

He looked at Clark again, contemplating his choice. It was difficult to begin with. Almost all of LexCorp’s weapons made it out onto the street in one way or another, and to say the man was benefiting from the current wars was an understatement. He didn’t need another scapegoat if things went sour, nor did he need the impressive resources of Wayne Enterprises to fuel his ambitions. But what would the world be like without Superman?

Alfred approached him with a fresh hot towel. “Thank you,” Bruce said. He switched the two quickly. Barbara would be back soon, if the GPS was any indication.

"I apologize for dinner being so late. The noodles are still soaking," Alfred said.

===

Clark nodded and felt somewhat comforted by the conviction in Bruce’s voice.  Clark had been trying to nab him as Superman and as one half of the team of Lane and Kent.  Maybe together they’d actually be able to get Luthor… make some charges stick.  Hopefully.

Bringing himself back to reality, “No worries, Alfred,” Clark said with a smile.  ”Your food is worth waiting for.”

===

Barbara came flying into the cave on her motorcycle. “B!” she called up from the parking pad. She started making her to the computer. “I need to get the file on whatever the GCPD was doing out there tonight.”

"Here." Bruce dropped the file to the side for her.

"Somehow I knew you’d have it for me." Barbara picked it up and went straight for the radio log. Without looking up, she went over to the computer, sat down, and pushed her cowl back.

Bruce watched her as he drifted lazily towards Clark. There was something like amusement on his face. “Let’s eat upstairs tonight,” he breathed.

===

Clark tried not to look surprised.  He tried to be casual when he said, “That sounds good.”

And he was glad once again that  _he_  was the one with the super hearing, because if Bruce could hear the spike in his heart rate…


	12. Chapter 12

Bruce lead the way up to the stairs. “I don’t know how you feel about ornate dining rooms, but I’d rather eat in the kitchen, if it’s all the same to you.” He opened the back of the grandfather clock and easily slid it aside.

Alfred, if he was surprised, didn’t show it. “Shall I set the dining room table, Master Bruce?”

"Just the kitchen," Bruce replied. "And have my tablet brought in."

"Very well, sir. I take it you will be giving him the tour?"

Bruce blinked, and on reflex he looked at Clark expectantly. He honestly hadn’t thought of that. It also didn’t escape him the kinds of games Alfred was just as good at playing, but to be honest, this was one he didn’t mind going along with.

===

"Eating in the kitchen sounds almost as good as getting the grand tour," Clark said with a smile.  Then he looked to Bruce and felt like he really should offer him a way out… in case he was too polite to say he didn’t want to have Clark wandering around his house.  "That is if you don’t mind," he added.

===

Before he could even open his mouth to speak, Alfred was already talking. “Do be sure to how him the gardens. It’s a full moon tonight, and we’ve got a few spare hours before the storm clouds roll in.”

"Yes, thank you, Alfred." Bruce passed a look towards the butler, but he was returning with his tray towards the kitchen.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Currently, we’re in the study. The library is next door.” Without another word, he closed the grandfather clock behind them and lead the way.

The library wasn’t massive, not like many people envisioned. It ha a few relics in display cases and large floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that contained volumes just as old. The newer books were near he bottom. “Read anything other than news?” Bruce asked.

===

The study was nice, but the library was nicer.  It wasn’t huge, but it was beautiful.  Clark wouldn’t have minded too much if the tour had ended there.

"I do, actually," Clark responded.  "I read a little of everything, honestly.  The classics, mysteries, spy novels, non-fiction, poetry… everything.  I’m a bit of a speed reader."  Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added, "I used to sorta entertain the idea of being a novelist."

===

Bruce snorted out a laugh at “speed reader.” Of course he would be. Clark could probably go through the entire Library of Congress in a day, and this collection in perhaps an hour. How many hours spent reading case files and perpetrator profiles could Bruce have saved with that power alone?

He raised an eyebrow at the novelist comment. “What’s stopping you? Don’t say you haven’t got the time. I take it you type as fast as you read.”

===

He laughed.  ”I am quite the typist, matter of fact.  But I guess the usual thing is stopping me.  Lack of talent.  Or, well… lack of original ideas, at any rate.”  He shrugged.  ”But it’s never been completely out of the back of my mind.  Lord knows I have enough stories I’ve started and abandoned because they weren’t good enough.”  

===

Frowning, Bruce contemplated asking more. He didn’t know the first thing about writing a story, and his version of a pep talk consisted of phrases like “do it” and “do it better.” This was straying awfully close to “pep talk” conversation, too. Something told him Clark wouldn’t appreciate Bruce if it went there.

But there was one thing he could comment on. “There is no such thing as an original idea,” Bruce said, pacing down a row of shelves. “Everything you could ever think has already been thought, every story or character you could ever write has already lived on a thousand other scripts. And ideas themselves are a dime a dozen, that’s why we never hire ‘idea people’ at Wayne Ent. Anyone can come up with an idea. It’s the execution that matters.” He stopped and turned back to Clark. “I’ve read your work, by the way. I actually have your name flagged in the computer.”

===

"Well, I honestly wasn’t fishing for compliments," Clark said with a smile.  He hoped he hadn’t sounded  _that_  pathetic, though he did really appreciate the effort on Bruce’s part.  ”But thank you for the advice.  You’re right, though I have to say that wasn’t at all what I thought you’d say when I started yammering on.” 

"But you’ve got my name flagged?" he asked, intrigued.  "Really?"

===

"You’d have your name flagged, too, if you were in my position. It helps to keep track of the world’s most powerful being." An unknown book caught Bruce’s attention. Alfred must have purchased it. He plucked it from the shelf and began flipping through the pages, barely even skimming as he figured out what it was about.

===

"Oh," Clark said.  "I thought you meant you were a fan."

===

"I never said I wasn’t." He returned the book to the shelf, one finger still resting languidly on the spine. "Don’t you think it’s cheating, writing about yourself, though?"

 

===

"You remember that I work with Lois Lane, right?" Clark asked with a little smile.  "She’s tough competition.  And honestly, I don’t  _like_  to write about Superman because it’s… hard to be objective, I guess.  But sometimes it’s the only way to get in the paper at all.”

===

Bruce frowned across the room at Clark, but this was more than just his normal thoughtful frown. He knew something of running a newspaper, at least, ever since he had to read a bit in order to buy one. ”Is this because your editor doesn’t think Clark Kent is good enough, or is it because Superman isn’t news anymore?” he asked. There was a hardness to the tail end of his sentence.

 

===

"Probably a bit of both, if I’m being honest," Clark said, shrugging.  He watched Bruce curiously and wondered if his interest was professional now or if it was still what passed as personal.  "Perry thinks I’ve got potential that I don’t live up to… but it’s good that he pushes.  Don’t want to get complacent."

Then, with a tilt of his head, he added, “And it doesn’t matter if Superman is news anymore.  I don’t do it for the publicity.”

===

"I know you don’t," was all Bruce said. He was thinking about the best course of action. Clark was a good writer. Not the best Bruce had read, but his writing was good enough to make Bruce slow down and read word-by-word most of the time. Clark probably just needed room to grow.

Bruce started walking for the library door, ready to continue the tour. “What sort of novel would you write, assuming you had the motivation?” he asked as he passed Clark.

===

"Well, when I was a lonely teenager I used to think about writing a romance with the main character being a bookish farm boy, but who’d want to read that?" Clark asked with a laugh.  "I guess I’d like to write an adventure.  Did you ever see  _Valley of the Kings_?  Because I’d really like to write something in that vein.”

===

Bruce shot a quick and confused look. “ _Wādī al Mulūk_?” he asked. “The tombs in the Theban Necropolis?” That wasn’t a movie, that was a place. And he almost went there at one point.

 

===

"Well, yeah," Clark said, a little smile on his face.  He had been there… he had the means to do as much traveling as he liked, really.  "But no… there’s a movie starring Robert Taylor."   _The_ Robert Taylor, Clark neglected to add… because he was trying to be subtle about the whole _really_  loving men thing.  ”It’s great.  Really ’50s… but great.  You should check it out some time.”

===

He was all serious now, like a cat that had lost the mouse he thought he caught. “I don’t watch movies,” Bruce grumbled. He opened the door to the next room.

"The sitting room. Most of my guests end up here." It was plain enough, for a mansion: ornate chairs and a sofa, a large red brick fireplace with all kinds of mantle decorations. The windows were huge and had likewise curtains, and the rug looked like it had taken seven years to put together by hand. 

===

Clark shrugged.  Of course he didn’t watch movies.

He followed Bruce into the sitting room and nodded as he looked around.  ”It’s nice.  I like the fireplace… very traditional.”

===

"I hate it," Bruce scowled. "Not the room itself, just the frivolous nature behind it. The living room serves the same function, only it has a TV so I don’t have to talk as much." He winced and pulled out the towel from against his side. "Reheat this for me, will you?"

===

He took the towel and bathed it in heat vision.  ”I thought more space was supposed to be better,” he said as he handed the towel back.  ”Isn’t that why wealthy people live in mansions in the first place?”  This wasn’t a criticism… he’d have genuinely liked to hear Bruce’s thoughts on it… he sometimes seemed to resent his wealth and position so much, and it was hard not to wonder why.

===

"It’s a game when it gets to this level." Bruce worked on fitting the towel back in place as he moved down the hallway. "Business isn’t decided by just who signs the contract. Sometimes you won’t even get a project halfway through the door unless you wine and dine the right people for a year, and I’m supposed to be one of those ‘right people.’"

===

”Hm.  Fair enough,” Clark replied.  ”If it’s any consolation, though, I have to say, you’re pretty good at ‘the game.’  You occasionally come off as quite sincere.”

===

 _Did he know_? Bruce couldn’t help the sudden fearful look at Clark. Not that it had much time to be fearful, he was only a half-second behind in schooling the expression into something more suitable. The thundering in his chest, however, took a bit longer to control.

"Gym," Bruce said hastily, throwing his thumb at a door. "Pool’s on the other side. We should get to the kitchen, I need to check on Barbara."

===

"Okay," Clark said reluctantly.  He… must have offended him with that last comment.  He honestly hadn’t meant it as a criticism… it was just an observation.  He thought about apologizing in case that remark had rubbed Bruce the wrong way, but he didn’t want to make the moment even more awkward.  So instead, he said, "That’s fine.  Kitchen it is."

===

Wayne Manor’s kitchen looked like a cross between something you would find in a suburban home and the backstage of a five-star restaurant. It had multiple ovens and stoves, a pair of industrial sinks for the dishes; rows of pots, pans, and tools hanging above the aisles like so many wind chimes on a porch. And at the front of it all was a black granite island piece, perhaps big enough to seat six, but had only been set for two.

Of course, Alfred had put them on a corner. They would be close without chance of accidentally touching and still be able to look at each other without craning.

Bruce’s tablet had been set on the short side of the corner. He went straight for it, quickly unlocking the screen with a fingerprint and chancing a glance up at Clark.  _No_ , he answered for his previous question. Clark didn’t know. He had no idea what that kind of comment did to Bruce, which…Well, to be honest, Bruce didn’t know, either. He couldn’t decide between wanting to run away and to touch, to hold. To make it perfectly clear to Clark what was going through his head, or to escape to his ‘Cave and change all the locks.

Sitting at the corner would have to do.


	13. Chapter 13

"This kitchen is amazing," Clark said.  He stopped himself before he let out  a low whistle because city people didn’t do that.  He thought of the stews and casseroles and pies and cookies his mother could make in a place like this, and he was reminded, however briefly, of what it was like, being a little boy and helping her in the kitchen.  He was an  _okay_  cook, but he was now imaging how accomplished he might seem if he had access to such a setup.

He watched Bruce take his place and then sat down himself and determined not to make Bruce uncomfortable by staring or leaning in or anything like that.  Much as he might like to be able to do those things.

He held onto the edge of the counter (in an attempt to steady himself, though he was only shaky on the inside) and smiled softly.

===

He watched Barbara through both a camera feed snapped to one side of the tablet and a screen feed on the other, showing him exactly what she was doing on the computer.

"The kitchen has actually been redone twice since Alfred started working here. He put a lot of effort into streamlining the layout for the caterers. My father once told me that it used to be a confusing mess when he was growing up."

===

"He did a great job," Clark commented.  "It looks like it belongs in a magazine.   _Better Homes_  or something.”  He leaned just a tad closer.  ”So how is Barbara doing?”

===

The downside to hyper sensitivity was that every single gesture made came across as exaggerated to the lower levels of his mind. On a higher level, Bruce was aware that Clark barely moved at all. But it felt like a canyon had been breached.

"She’s listening," Bruce said, turning the screen to show Clark. Barbara was watching the GCPD’s interrogation rooms. He set the tablet down so they could both see and dug into the Alfredo noodles.

This was his third pasta-based dish in a week, he realized. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Alfred was no doubt capitalizing on the fact that he ate more with Clark around, mostly because he didn’t want to have to talk as much, but still. Bruce contemplated shirking meals to spite the old man. But that was just childish.

===

It was strange.  He liked watching Bruce react to him… but sometimes the pointed lack of reaction was even more interesting.

He twirled pasta around his fork and watched the screen quietly.

===

Bruce found himself relaxing in the quiet company that settled between them. He picked at his pasta and watched the children go through interviews one by one, each of them with a child services counselor present. None of the kids were willing to speak. Their loyalty in “Mr. Diego” was solid.

"Thoughts?" Bruce asked before sipping on his drink

===

"These poor kids are scared and desperate, so they’re pretty loyal to this guy," Clark commented.  "Most of them probably haven’t had anyone looking out for them in a long time, if ever, so what little bit of concern Mr. Diego showed them must have felt…  _worthy_  of their loyalty.”

===

Bruce hummed. “She’s going to regret me telling her to let the one go. That’s probably her only way in to find out if there was anything more going on in there.” 

Barbara suddenly cut the video on the computer. On the camera feed, she was all but running back to her motorcycle.

"And that’s her going out to find Bridget again."

===

"That kid is pretty scrappy… Batgirl won’t have an easy time tracking her down," Clark commented, taking a little sip from his glass.

===

"Should have put a tracker on the kid. She’ll learn." Bruce reached out and locked the tablet screen, but he didn’t return his arm to his lap. He let it rest on the edge of the table — elbow off, of course — and thought about how much more he wanted to eat. He was starting to feel full.

===

"She will," Clark agreed.  He thought back to the night Batman had put a tracker on him… it seemed a really long time ago now.  But it wasn’t, how that he thought about it.  "Barbara’s a fast learner, and really driven and capable… I think she’s going to be able to handle this."

He set down his glass and noticed Bruce’s arm.  It would have been easy to brush against it, or even touch his hand.  But… he had more self-control than that.

It wasn’t often that his impulses tended toward flight rather than fight, but right now, he really wanted to leave.  Because in the Cave it was easy to pretend to himself that Bruce didn’t give him the kind of feelings people talked about in bad pop songs, but right now it wasn’t so easy.  Sitting there, it almost felt like a date… and it had been nice.  And right now he just wanted to leave before he messed things up, as it was so easy to do with Bruce.

"Listen, thanks for dinner, and please thank Alfred for me, but I should get going," Clark said softly, setting his heavy cloth napkin on the counter beside his now empty plate.

===

Bruce was surprised.  _Don’t_ , he almost said, and then he shied away from his own thought. “Of course,” was what came out. He licked at his lips and stood from his seat. “Allow me to see you to the door, at least.”

===

Clark’s eyes involuntarily flicked to Bruce’s mouth as he spoke and quickly looked away.  He hadn’t meant to look, and he knew there was no way it was subtle.  

He forced a little smile.  ”Of course.  Yeah.  Thank you.”

===

It was probably a bad idea to offer that, Bruce thought in hindsight, leading the way. The way Clark looked away from him, the involuntary smile, the pained speech. Clark probably didn’t even want to be up in the mansion period now that he thought about it, especially that one line he gave, about the tour being as exciting as eating in the kitchen. That hadn’t been hope or cheerfulness; of course it hadn’t been. It hadn’t meant anything.

"I figure Superman shouldn’t be seen by paparazzi at my front door, especially when I’m supposed to be gone," he said, stopping short of the back door. God, he wanted to make Clark stay. "You never know when they’re lurking out there."

===

Clark smirked.  ”Yeah… you know what hounds the press can be.”  

He hesitated.  As much as he wanted to go, he also didn’t want to go.  It was… frustrating.

===

Clark wasn’t moving.

 _Tell him. Tell him how much you think of him_.

"You know, one time there was this one photographer who managed to sneak into my back yard, too," Bruce said, stepping closer to Clark. "It was quite a feat, to be honest. I’ve found little way to increase security without raising suspicion since then."

===

Bruce wasn’t telling him to go.  He wasn’t shrinking away.

"I’m telling you, they’re hounds," Clark said, stepping slightly closer himself and licking his lips.  "It’s… terrible.  So it’s possible that I could be seen even coming out this back door?"

===

Bruce watched Clark’s tongue flick across his lips. A vague pain in his side was like a warning that this was bad, this was very bad. He couldn’t get involved with Superman, he couldn’t get involved with Clark.

But he could feel his breath coming in hot, rhythmic streams. He could feel his heart turning into a freight train inside his chest, knew his neck was flushing red.  _Just let it go_ , he whispered to himself. He knew it was his desire talking, knew exactly what he would need to do to conquer it.

Bruce wasn’t interested. He took that one final step, the one that put them so close that Clark was a beacon of heat and warmth, and there was nothing he could do to save himself. “Yes,” he breathed, licking his own swollen lips. “You should stay.” And then he leaned forward and kissed Clark.

===

It took maybe a half a second for Clark to realize it was real.  It was really happening.  Bruce was kissing him.

He wasn’t going to allow himself to think right now because this was… perfect.

It may have taken half a second for him to realize he wasn’t lost in another fantasy, but it only took about a quarter of a second for his body to instinctively respond.  He kissed Bruce back as he let out a soft sigh.  Now wasn’t the moment for wondering what this would mean or why it was happening now… he didn’t care.  It was a minor miracle that he had the presence of mind not to pull Bruce closer and hold him tight like he wanted to, because he’d have easily hurt him again, but the kiss was still perfect.

In that moment, nothing else mattered.  Nothing.

===

Cark was — Clark was kissing him back.  _Thank god_ , Clark was kissing him back.

He had been afraid, he realized. He had been so utterly afraid of how Clark might react, but to hear that sigh, to feel Clark moving their lips in tandem with Bruce…

Bruce licked at Clark’s bottom lip, tasted the same Alfredo he had eaten earlier. He wanted more. How long had it been since he had this? How long had he starved himself of what he truly craved, and how perfect was it that this was happening now? That this utterly perfect man was — was staying.

"Clark," Bruce husked, barely opening his eyes as he pulled back to speak. He put his hand to the side of Clark’s head, pulled to bring them together again. His cock twitched in his pants. He  _needed_  more.

===

The sound of his name coming from Bruce’s mouth like that, with such heat, such passion, was the single sexiest sound he had ever heard.

He smiled into the kiss, because  _ohmygod_ , how long had he been wanting this?  And how long had it seemed like it wouldn’t happen at all?  Bruce had kissed him and he was holding him almost desperately, and this was… better than flying.

He put his arms around Bruce, but low on his back so he wouldn’t hurt his side.  ”God, I’ve been wanting this  _so_  long,” Clark found himself saying, breathing against Bruce’s perfect lips.  His fingers had somehow grabbed hold of Bruce’s shirt and… God, he needed this. 

===

As soon as Clark’s hands were on his back, Bruce was pushing his hips forward.  _Me too_ , he couldn’t say, but he poured it into his lips and let the excess pool in his groin. “We should—” He broke himself off with his own open-mouthed kiss, finishing later with, “bed.”

At that moment, everything inside of Bruce froze. He didn’t want to go to the bedroom. He didn’t want to go to that place where he had dragged all those other women, those other  _mistakes_. Not that he had anything against them in particular, he knew what he had been getting himself into each and every time, but this…

Bruce returned to his kisses, returned to letting his hands grope and wander Clark’s body. Now that he knew he could have had  _this_ , yes, they were mistakes.

But the dread he thought he had banished was back.  _You won’t be able to keep him_ , his mind tormented him with. Bruce did everything he could to ignore it.

===

Part of him, a small part that he kind of hated right now, was telling him to stop because there were at least a dozen reasons why this shouldn’t happen.  But another part of him, a bigger and more insistent part, didn’t care because he just  _wanted_  Bruce so bad… had been wanting Bruce from the first time they met… the first time Bruce had looked at him and touched him back in Kasnia.  A lifetime ago.

The way Bruce’s hands felt on his body… it was better than he had imagined.  He pushed his own hips forward so their bodies were now practically pressed together.  Even when he thought it couldn’t possibly feel any better, it kept getting better.  It was  _so_  good.

"Wherever you want me," Clark breathed, breaking the kiss for just a moment but not pulling away.  He couldn’t bear to pull away yet.

===

Bruce made a feral sound deep in his throat. “Then  _here_ ,” he growled, shoving Clark back up against the wall. His ground his hips forward, letting Clark feel how hard he was growing. He started nipping his way down Clark’s neck and slipped his hands across the uniform, trying to find some way to get underneath. 

===

Clark smiled again and put his hand on the back of Bruce’s head and let his fingers tangle themselves in his thick black hair.  He was getting hard and he knew it must have been pretty obvious to Bruce… he could feel that Bruce was, too.  And he could feel his hands searching for a way inside his uniform.  

Clark could have been out of his clothes in less than a second.  He could have been naked, and he could have peeled Bruce’s clothes off of him, like he so desperately wanted to do… but…

Some small call to decency, and appeal to logic, took hold of him then.  Because it felt like it was really going to happen, and he  _really_  wanted it to… but it couldn’t.  Not before they cleared a few things up.

The thought that had been in the very back of his head all along… he remembered it now.  Bruce had a girlfriend.  Bruce, who claimed to be straight, was cheating on his girlfriend right now… with Clark.  And Clark was just standing there and indulging it.  Bruce was, what?  Bi?  Bi-curious?  Just experimenting and this wouldn’t mean anything to him anyways?

The smile faded from Clark’s face, even though Bruce was still kissing his neck and it felt perfect.  Even though what had happened was perfect and it could have continued to be perfect.  Because he knew it was likely to come to a screeching halt right now, and he didn’t have any choice but to speak up… because he had to do what was right.  He had to make sure that this wasn’t going to be something Bruce would regret later… because Clark couldn’t take it if he thought he was one of Bruce’s mistakes, a meaningless notch on his bedpost.

"Bruce, I…" Clark cut himself off with a little moan.  He couldn’t help it.  "I… you know how bad I want you.  But it… it wouldn’t be right… I need to know if you’re still… dating Miranda Dae."

===

 _Lie_ , he told himself.  _Tell him no, break up with her tomorrow_.  _You never even wanted her anyways_. But his kisses slowed to a halt, and his hands nearly froze in place.

Clark deserved better than that.

Clark deserved better than him.

It was with a massive effort that he pulled away. ”I…I’m sorry,” was all he said, because he had so much to be sorry for. He was sorry for doing this to Clark, sorry for putting him in this position. He was sorry he wasn’t put together, he was sorry he couldn’t be what Clark deserved. Most of all he was sorry that he didn’t have the voice to explain all of this, and that Clark would think, no doubt, that he was choosing Miranda over him.

"I’m sorry," he repeated. He didn’t even have the power the control the dejection on his face, not at first. As he turned away and fled towards the study, to get to a place that was anywhere but here, he found it.

After all, the night was young, and he had work to do.

===

There was an actual, physical pain, an ache in his chest, as he watched Bruce walk away.  Run away.  From him.

He wished he hadn’t said anything.  He wished he wasn’t the kind of person who needed to do things the right way.  He wished he didn’t have too much pride to go after Bruce and say they could care about his relationship with Miranda in the morning.

And it hurt… it hurt that Bruce walked away and didn’t even try to come up with an explanation or a justification or anything.  Maybe it had been an experiment… maybe Clark had been stupid not to realize that.

But no… the look on Bruce’s face when he pulled back… walking away had hurt him, too.

Clark shook himself and went for the door.  He could still feel Bruce’s hands on his chest as he flew home.


End file.
